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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142304">Amid the Wisteria</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet'>Metallic_Sweet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(what happens if TWSITD aren't there?), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Class Issues, Court Politics, First Meetings, Friendship/Love, Gen, Horses, Language of Flowers, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Moral Ambiguity, The Season</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:54:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,408</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a Fódlan without Those Who Slither in the Dark, the Season of 1180 introduces the heirs to Adrestia, Faerghus, and Leicester to the world. Hubert never expected to play any role but the one by Edelgard's side.</p><p>And then there is Ferdinand von Aegir.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>218</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is now available as a free PDF or ePub zine including updated text and recipes featured in the story <a href="https://metallic-sweet.itch.io/amid-the-wisteria">on my itch.io account</a>!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>0.</b>
</p><p>Onwards from their first meeting, beneath the wisteria, Ferdinand turns to Hubert and asks:</p><p>“Do you ever think, if things had been different, would we have ended up here?” </p><p>The wisteria are in bloom. The petal-covered ends of the climbing bines fall over the crown of Ferdinand’s head. Catch in his unbound hair and frame his face and shoulders. Purple and blue and pale, pale pink amid orange and peach. Ferdinand gazes up at Hubert. Curious and observant.</p><p>“No,” Hubert says because, unlike everyone else, there has never been any point in lying to Ferdinand. </p><p>Amid the bines, Ferdinand lips lift. A small, seemingly simple expression all the more ornate for its mysteries. At the curve of his cheek, a flower petal wrinkles. Hubert wants to reach out and soothe it against Ferdinand’s skin. In the afternoon sunlight, Hubert has the pleasure of watching Ferdinand’s eyelashes flutter. His gaze softens. </p><p>For a fleeting, stolen moment:</p><p>They are in love in the shadow of the wisteria bines. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>1.</b>
</p><p>The first time Ferdinand and Hubert met: </p><p>Ferdinand was seventeen. Hubert was nineteen. The Lone Moon was just on its way out. The winter had been mild, and rumours were afoot that great things were at play. Enbarr was ready to see the social and sporting opening of the Season. </p><p>It was an important year, although no one involved knew quite how important. Edelgard was presented at court as a woman and the Emperor Ionius IX’s heir during the opening of the Season on Saint Indech Day. She was seventeen, small in stature but stately, and her hair was done up in the Horns of Seiros for the first time. Her eyes were focused and piercing and her voice, moderate and clear, strong. </p><p>Her only error in her presentation was when she glanced at Hubert, who stood at the base of the throne’s dias. It was a mistake because Hubert, as von Vestra and therefore no saintly blessing, was forever now in shadow. On that morning, Edelgard stepped out into the Goddess’s light and left her childishness behind. The error of her glance, her single uncertainty, was largely forgiven but not forgotten, and Hubert was ordered away for a month to let the scandal pass. </p><p>It was in this month that rumours reached Enbarr that Ferdinand, son of the Prime Minister Duke Ludwig von Aegir, would be presented at the opening of the sporting Season. Ferdinand was a bit young for a bachelor in the Season, but he was brought to Enbarr to match the precedent set by Dimitri’s presentation to the Fhirdiad court during their celebrations of Saint Indech’s Day. Hubert returned to Edelgard’s side at the same time that Ferdinand arrived in Enbarr amid rumours that the Duke Riegan would soon present an heir at the official opening of the Derdriu season. Hubert registered Ferdinand’s arrival only in proxy to what it meant for Edelgard’s schedule: another observed appointment, possibly another chaperoned walk, and certainly yet another name and face to remember to schedule for dances. </p><p>The Duke Aegir assured that the presentation to Ionius and Edelgard would have appropriate pomp and circumstance. It was during breakfast the day after Ferdinand arrived on his own by horseback, his wardrobe and luggage sent ahead two days prior. He came to breakfast in fine fashion but smelling distinctly of horses, giving away with his bright eyes and pleasant peach flush that he had already been out to ride. Ferdinand, especially next to his thrussed up father who scowled at his son, appeared fresh and more than a little rustic even as he went through the motions of presentation and introduction without a hitch.</p><p>Ionius, Ludwig, Edelgard, and Ferdinand settle down to breakfast. It was a fine spread, and the topics were light over toast, eggs, and fried tomatoes. Hubert kept the teapot warm and tried to stay out of eyeshot otherwise. Ionius kept his usual silence, leaving the conversation to be dominated by Ludwig, who spoke at length of the opera house gala that evening. It was only once breakfast had been cleared that Edelgard and Ferdinand were given time to speak. </p><p>“Do you have any hobbies?” Edelgard asked.</p><p>“I enjoy riding and polo,” Ferdinand said, very pleasantly.</p><p>He spoke, however, too quickly and eagerly. He caught himself, and his flush darkened slightly. His gaze did not waver from Edelgard, which was firm credit to him as his father’s lips pulled into another scowl. </p><p>“I have little talent with riding or polo,” Edelgard said, mild and a little bit of a challenge.</p><p>Ferdinand smiled, understanding where she was going. “I also enjoy the opera,” he said, and the lilt upon the word <i>opera</i> was distinct in the Aegir accent, which Ludwig fundamentally did not use, “which I have heard you do as well, my lady.” </p><p>“I believe the opera is stellar entertainment,” Edelgard agreed, and Hubert fought to keep his face straight as she never praised the court entertainment as such. “Do you have a favourite?”</p><p>“I was inspired to learn swordplay by the incredible performance by Manuela!” Ferdinand says, and he leans forward, too honest and drawing his father’s stink-eye and Ionius’s attention from the sugar bowl. “I am very keen on all arts—artistic, martial, or sporting.”</p><p>“I have seen you have an application and fee for the young player’s tournament,” Ionius said, the first words he had spoken that morning beyond the prerequisite pleasantries. </p><p>“Yes!” Ferdinand said, brightening again even as his father frowned deeper. “I will make eighteen next month in Horsebow Moon, so I will be of age to participate.” </p><p>“I am interested in watching you compete,” Ionius said, which surprised everyone; Edelgard looked at her father with eyebrows high on her forehead. “If you prove yourself, I may sponsor your membership.” </p><p>Ludwig’s eyes narrowed, his grip upon his egg spoon tightening as he stared at Ionius. Hubert’s mind skittered, frantically trying to think of what Ionius’s angle here was. Edelgard did not glance at Hubert nor at Ferdinand, her gaze focused upon her father much the same as she used to watch her bow tutor. Edelgard could never quite master the bow, although not for lack of practice and effort. </p><p>Ferdinand did not brighten further, but he inclined his head. Not too deep as to be blunt but with a level of confidence and earnestness that made Hubert’s gut twist. </p><p>“I am humbled, Your Majesty,” Ferdinand said, clear and keen and with all the stars of youth in his eyes and bearing as he straightened. “I promise to show my quality.” </p><p>For a split second, Ferdinand’s gaze included Hubert, lurking in the background and half-shadow of the curtained eastern windows. In the field of those orange eyes: </p><p>Something deep in Hubert stirred up. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>-1.</b>
</p><p>Before all of this: </p><p>Hubert dreaded the evenings when court minstrels performed romance lays. </p><p>Edelgard was required to sit through these dated, fakely pious performances. She did not care for romance lays, and both Ionius and Hubert knew it. But she was a lady, and it was her uncle, Lord Arundel, and not Ionius who controlled the court’s entertainment. The court wished to see Edelgard play her role as a pleasant princess, and, to maintain what little power her father maintained, she had to obey. Her father could not help her. Hubert could not help her. They could only watch as Edelgard faked smiles and interest in vapid entertainment to the hungry eyes of the court. </p><p>The lays themselves and the minstrels who played and sang them were not at fault, but Hubert could not help but hate them. He paid little attention to the verses because they were worthless to Edelgard, and he paid even less attention to the minstrels, who were all harmless in the face of magic. Years later, Hubert would come to understand that he was externalising his frustrations. He felt helpless for his incapabilities. It was easier to despise these things than himself. </p><p>This set precedences. It would be many years before Hubert truly understood this. In those long, awful years, standing at Edelgard’s back and forced to listen to what he thought of as only vapid, cruel entertainment, Hubert hated romance. He vowed to never fall in love. He gazed down at the crown of Edelgard’s head and promised himself that there would be no room in his heart for anyone or anything else. He would serve and adore Edelgard, despite and because of the impossibilities between their stations, and that would be enough. He took his heart, stomped on it, and threw away its key. </p><p>Or so he thought. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>2.</b>
</p><p>Hubert was never presented for the Season. </p><p>He was von Vestra, and, while he had good breeding, the House Vestra did not benefit from presenting their sons or daughters for socialisation. They served the House Hresvelg first and foremost and owned no lands nor notable property of their own. Hubert did not question this, content and even eager to eventually serve Edelgard in her reign and support the safety of the Emperor’s household. It was a source of purpose and, subconsciously, comfort. Hubert needed no ambitions or ideals of his own but that which matched Edelgard’s vision. </p><p>The entrance of Ferdinand into his and Edelgard’s lives disturbed everything. Ferdinand did little of note during the Season from a political standpoint, but that did not matter. He fulfilled his promise to Ionius to show his quality upon the polo field. He stood out clearly for his swiftness upon horseback, and, despite his youth making some of his maneuvers awkward, he was able to score goals in the opening summer matches. Ionius followed through with his own promise to sponsor Ferdinand’s membership to the Enbarr Polo Club, superseding Ludwig’s social membership. Ferdinand therefore had greater influence within the club than the Prime Minister himself. </p><p>Hubert’s feelings about the matter are ones he came to regret in the following years. For that Season, Ferdinand’s success and Ludwig’s obvious displeasure with it took over the gossip mill. It lifted a great deal of pressure from Edelgard’s shoulders, and her mistake in looking to Hubert at her debut was completely forgotten. Hubert was able to move again in Edelgard’s shadow without gossipmongerers murmuring about Edelgard and snide comments from the rest of the Castle staff on Hubert’s heels. Thus, Hubert was left feeling that Ferdinand had done them a generous favour, which stirred annoying notions of gratefulness and respect. </p><p>“It is a bit annoying,” Edelgard said as she and Hubert waited for Bernadetta von Varley to join her for tea. “My father has gotten the entertainment he wanted by creating a bee in Ludwig’s bonnet, but I do not look forward to Ludwig’s revenge.” </p><p>Hubert inclined his head. The Prime Minister had his allies with Lord Arundel, Count Varley, the Nuvelles, and Hubert’s own father. Since the Insurrection in 1171 that placed Lord Arundel as the centre of court life, Edelgard and therefore Hubert’s lives had been regulated to what little autonomy Ionius could buy for Edelgard and how much of that Hubert could flex beneath his father’s thumb. Since Ferdinand’s success, Edelgard and Hubert had been able to move with more flexibility in years. </p><p>It was at that point when Bernadetta, with her venerable mother looming behind her, arrived for tea. Hubert faded into the background as Edelgard and Bernadetta sat through an hour-long sad pantomime of tea. He thought only, he believed, of how much he looked forward to the coming fall when Edelgard would push forward from beneath her father’s thin shield and set the world aflame. </p><p>But, irritatingly, he also found himself somewhere between curious and concerned with that afternoon’s polo score. He found himself asking after it as he took the tea cart to the kitchens from one of the footmen he passed. The question, and whatever expression Hubert wore, earned him a laugh.</p><p>“Oh, we’ve got another win! And over the Gaspard Club!” the footman closest to Hubert cackled as his companions, carrying luggage for Constance von Nuvelle, grinned widely. “Never took you for a polo fan, Young von Vestra.” </p><p>“I am not,” Hubert ground out, already kicking himself for this slip. “It is simply of interest during the Season.” </p><p>“Of course,” the footman leered before he finally moved aside so Hubert could pass. “We all like to know what is on with Our Majesty’s toys.”</p><p>The rumour that Edelgard had also taken interest in polo took two weeks to squash, and it only failed to gain legs because Hubert worked proactively not to let it get beyond the House and Castle staff. Hubert focused upon his annoyance at this and ignored Edelgard’s curious glances at his pinched lips and furrowed brows. Aside from occasionally checking the polo scores in the evening paper, Hubert pledged to think no more about the young Aegir making waves on the field. In any other world, Hubert’s will would have been sufficient. </p><p>This is not that world. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>-2.</b>
</p><p>Hubert does not remember, but Ferdinand does:</p><p>They met once before.</p><p>Hubert was six. He was not yet assigned to Edelgard, and the Insurrection was only in whispers of discontent. He was a chubby child with fluffy, almost unruly black hair who was curious and quiet as he trailed behind his father’s measured footsteps. He was well-behaved because he was von Vestra and knew that good behaviour was his primary quality until he was assigned to whichever child Ionius picked as heir. </p><p>Ferdinand was four. It was his first time out of Aegir, and he didn’t understand why he had to wear so much clothes on a hot, late summer day. He was motivated, however, to be on his best behaviour because his mother had promised to take him to see the opera, which she had explained as full of dancing and singing. He walked carefully at his mother’s side, trying not to gawk at all the strange things in Enbarr and the Castle Hresvelg. </p><p>They met after afternoon service in the Imperial chapel. Ferdinand’s mother made her rounds among the other noble and ladies of high standing, and Ferdinand made special care to keep his tongue still except to introduce himself to the few who voiced interest in his presence. His mother made her way with her hands full trading calling and visitation cards. Years later, Ferdinand would come to understand she was cultivating her own alliances following the embarrassment of Ludwig’s recent infidelities. </p><p>Hubert knew of those infidelities, although he did not understand the details. He understood, however, as the Lady Aegir came to greet his father, that these were embarrassing and improper things, and he was more interested in what his father and the Lady Aegir discussed than in the little boy who hung in appropriate silence beside his mother’s skirts. </p><p>Ferdinand did notice Hubert, if only because he was another child and one with such an adult-like seriousness that Ferdinand was instantly envious. They had no opportunity nor reason to greet each other as their parents did not exchange calling cards. Ferdinand moved away with his mother, and Hubert, who had been staring up at the Lady Aegir, paid him no mind. </p><p>The incident was inconsequential to Hubert. But for Ferdinand: </p><p>He never forgot anything. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>3.</b>
</p><p>On the 14th day of the Verdant Rain Moon, the Season ends as Duke Riegan causes a great scandal by introducing his heir, Claude, at the last Derdriu gala of the year. No one has ever heard of Claude, even the majority of the House Reigan staff. Claude holds himself well and has keen eyes beyond his years, and the Duke Riegan smiles like the cat that’s got the cream at his newest trick. This event completely usurps all the gossip that had occupied the nobility and high standing attendees for the majority of the Season, and Edelgard and Dimitri’s own presentations are effectively completely overshadowed. </p><p>“If he thinks he will get away with that stunt, I will eat this very carriage!” Lord Arundel rages on the way back from Derdriu. “His disgraced daughter’s son? That woman hasn’t been on the scene in a decade. He must think we are all fools!”</p><p>“We will not let this slight pass,” the Countess Kleiman says, patting Arundel’s hand with an unkind smile that does not reach her eyes. “Edelgard has been the talk of the Season as a true lady’s presentation should be.” </p><p>“This is a great offense to the Imperial family,” Arundel grits out before Edelgard can say anything to the contrary. “Ionius must be brought to see sense with his Roundtable dealings.” </p><p>There is little choice except for Edelgard to nod vaguely when prompted and Hubert to listen to Arundel and the Countess Kleiman’s drivel. Arundel talks nearly the entire twelve hour ride, so neither Edelgard nor Hubert get any rest let alone sleep. They arrive back in Enbarr exhausted and irritable as Arundel has the carriage drop them off at the Castle Hresvelg’s inner south gate. It is insulting to Edelgard’s position, and Hubert feels how she quakes in humiliation and the force needed to contain her own cold rage as they are left standing in the harsh summer sun in the same clothes they wore to the gala. Claude’s presentation is now yet another excuse for Arundel and his ilk to exert power over her. </p><p>Hubert wonders, very awkwardly, how Patricia, who stood at Dimitri’s side across the House Riegan hall, is taking it. Edelgard and Ionius never speak of her, despite the fact she was once their mother and wife. Hubert barely remembers her. She left on terms that even his father does not know before the Insurrection.</p><p>“Come, Hubert,” Edelgard says as she turns towards the doors; she parts their hands, drawing Hubert fully from his thoughts; “I wish to change from these clothes. Assist me in the review of my messages.” </p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty,” Hubert says, falling into step two paces behind. </p><p>It is only once they are in Edelgard’s private quarters that she lets her frustrations out. Hubert begins sorting through the pile of mail and the end of Season calling and visitation cards as Edelgard punches one of her pillows between her fists in silent anger. There are no eye holes to peer into her rooms for that would be an actual crime, but neither she nor Hubert are fooled that people won’t listen through the walls. </p><p>Hubert concentrates upon his task. There is a visitation card from Constance von Nuvelle in her father’s hand, denoting they had been by the afternoon before. There are four calling cards from other members of the court and two from Edelgard’s preferred tailor. There is a calling card from Bernadetta von Varley, notated in the Countess Varley’s hand. There are several letters from Monica von Ochs, Lysithea von Ordelia, and the Princess Petra Macneary, who are set to have their debuts in the next year and Edelgard has taken on as trainees. </p><p>The final calling card is the one that causes Hubert a pause. It bears an image of a horse in polo gear and Ferdinand von Aegir’s name at the bottom. Hubert flips it over expecting to find Ludwig’s blunt, stately calligraphy. Instead, he is met with dense, heavily left-slanted cursive. The message reads: </p><p>
  <i>Her Majesty Edelgard von Hresvelg &amp; Hubert von Vestra – I am aware you are in Derdriu. I wish to invite you for tomorrow’s closing Season polo match. If you will do me the honour of attending the match, I will host you for tea. – FvA</i>
</p><p>It is most unusual. Hubert passes the card to Edelgard, who considers it with her ruined pillow in hand for a very long time. It is not enough time for Hubert to gather his own thoughts, but he is able to fetch a spare pillow from the bedding chest and select a cover that does not smell too badly of camphor. </p><p>“He is a strange one,” Edelgard says at length, placing the ruined pillow at the foot of her bed, “but I think it would do us well to accept his invitation.” </p><p>Hubert, who had been about to stuff the pillow into the cover, pauses. Edelgard smiles at him, thin and toothy and more than a little cold. </p><p>“I do not know what my father or the Duke Aegir are playing at,” she says as Hubert slowly continues his task, “but I think Ferdinand himself is interesting. If nothing else, perhaps we will enjoy the cakes at the Enbarr Polo Club. Constance and Lysithea have told me they are very good.” </p><p>Hubert does not point out that he does not enjoy sweets. He inclines his head and concentrates on straightening the pillow. Pulling corners to corners. Just so. </p><p>He had pledged, long ago, to serve and adore Edelgard. So Hubert inclines his head.</p><p>“As you wish, Your Majesty.” </p><p>Edelgard smiles. Hubert smiles back. There is no room in Hubert’s heart for anyone else. He made this promise with all of his heart.</p><p>Hubert was a boy then. He may not have been presented before Ionius and the world, but he is now a man.</p><p>Something deep inside of Hubert is waking up.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>-3.</b>
</p><p>In a vase, wisteria will not keep. </p><p>Flower arrangements will only last for so long. They wilt faster in the summer and the sun as water and moisture evaporates. The blooms strain towards the light, unaware they are detached from their roots. Searching. Seeking. Finding nothing.</p><p>Ferdinand reaches up. Twines his fingers in the petals, blossoms, bines. </p><p>Hubert does not waver. He stares at Ferdinand in that way that, despite all their propriety, all that they could lose: </p><p>“Hubert,” Ferdinand whispers. </p><p>They lean together. </p><p>Overhead, above the wisteria, the wyverns roar, and Ferdinand thinks: </p><p>
  <i>I will make this worth it.</i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>4.</b> </p><p>The Enbarr Polo Club has two distinctions in Hubert’s mind. </p><p>The obvious distinction is that it is the centre of Enbarr court life outside of the grounds and interior of the Castle Hresvelg. Polo is a noble sport, although some commoners are allowed entrance if vetted for by the board or if they are of exceptional player skill. Many nobles who own only a Season home in Enbarr stable their horses or pegasi at the club, and the non-military Pegasus Appreciation Club has its headquarters in the Southern Gazebo, inclusive of an exclusive dining room. The club grounds have their own rose and begonia gardens, which was once the pride of the club before the new hedge maze eclipsed its popularity. </p><p>The second distinction is that the club is one of the only places, aside from the Mittelfrank Opera House and the Blacksmith Guild, where the opinion of Ionius IX still rules supreme. Ionius in his youth was both a strong rider and respectable polo player, and he only recently retired from playing due to his knees. During the Insurrection, the club held out against pressure to name Lord Arundel and the Duke Aegir to its board, despite Arundel withdrawing funding and therefore temporarily gutting the junior riders training programme. In past Seasons, Ionius has paid special attention to the club, sitting on all board meetings and hand selecting promising applicants and young riders for royal sponsorship through the year. </p><p>Reviewing all of this as Hubert helps Edelgard dress in the morning of the Season’s closing polo match throws into stark relief how Ferdinand must have pinned many private hopes upon his polo debut. Edelgard smiles thinly as she, too, reaches the same conclusion. There are several maids fluttering around them, taking Edelgard’s sleeping clothes and wash basin and turning down her bed. They will not have time to discuss at length these revelations as would be optimal, but Hubert may trust that they are on the same page. </p><p>On a personal level, Hubert is somewhat relieved that they will not have to discuss these belated realisations. He is now aware that he has been lax in his assessments and attention to the club. In the past three years, as Edelgard concentrated upon advancing her role as a Princess at court, they rarely went with Ionius to watch games. Hubert concentrated upon the affairs of the Enbarr court and House Hresvelg because those were the most pertinent worries, and he feels keenly how he lacks in consideration of the broader scope of Enbarr itself, let alone Fódlan at large. </p><p>They have been very isolated. It is entirely by Lord Arundel and his ilk’s design. </p><p>The carriage ride to the club is itself something of a farce. In the time before the Insurrection, Ionius used to ride to the club almost every afternoon after audiences. The carriage ride is entirely pomp and circumstance to go a mere two miles, but it is the current way of things for nobility not to travel on horseback for common eyes to see them. This is why the one thing Hubert had known about Ferdinand prior to his presentation was how he arrived in Enbarr at the start of the Season: it was quite unusual for a noble to appear out of carriage, even though Ferdinand had not quite officially entered society at the time. </p><p>“I have heard that you and Hubert will be joining Ferdinand von Aegir for tea after the match,” Ionius says, nearly startling Hubert out of his own skin. </p><p>“Yes, Father,” Edelgard says, and Hubert only has twenty years to suppress any flush to his cheeks or flicker of eyes from his suddenly racing heart. “He has been so kind to extend an invitation for tea.” </p><p>Ionius does not remove his gaze from the window. His thinning cheeks show more wrinkles nowadays, and Hubert has heard from his father that the Emperor has lacked an appetite for several months. Edelgard has not commented regarding her father’s health, but Hubert is well-aware how closely she watches his plates at meals they share. She bites the inside of her cheeks to keep silent when his half-finished plates are taken away. It makes Hubert’s blood boil to know that she is robbed even of offering familial concern. </p><p>“He is a strange boy,” Ionius says at length. “Or man now, I suppose. As you are a woman, my dear Edelgard.” </p><p>His gaze moves to Edelgard. He does not turn his head. Edelgard meets his eyes only briefly before Ionius’s gaze returns to the window. Hubert does not know what he is looking at. The windows are too cloudy to see out. </p><p>“I hope,” Ionius says as the carriage begins to slow over the cobblestone path at the polo club’s entrance, “he proves to be as good a tea companion as his mother was.” </p><p>The carriage rattles briefly and stops. Ionius does not move his gaze from the window. Edelgard breathes in. Out. Hubert feels very cold. </p><p>They are here. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>-4.</b>
</p><p>On the polo field, Ferdinand is at his most peaceful.</p><p>Ferdinand has always been more gifted with animals than people. He is aware that he comes off a bit brash and overly forward, and he is too given to showing his emotions and enthusiasm. There is little that he can do to rein in his facial expressions, which always escape him, or to moderate emotion in his voice, except when he can carry those slips away in song or hymns or poetry. Animals do not judge this, and they respond more positively when they are able to read his emotions as part of training. Ferdinand, in his youth in Aegir, spent as much time training dogs and helping break in horses as he did at lessons. It was only barely noble, which his parents grudgingly accepted to stop him rushing off into the fields. </p><p>Aegir is, at its heart, a fertile, farming territory. On the House estate, they have orchards, growing apples and hazelnuts for export throughout Fódlan and, in the good years as they have been recently, further afield. They keep bees to pollinate the trees, and Ferdinand’s mother brought knowledge from her former House Rowe to make their honey into mead. The mead has become a popular souvenir for visitors and the townspeople brew it alongside illegal beer as a way to supplement their income. </p><p>For their income is meager in comparison to the hard work they put into the orchards. Taxes are high in Aegir, and Ferdinand has become very aware that they are increasing because he has seen the wealth reflected in his father and sisters’ wardrobes. The staff who serve the House Aegir and the townspeople have seen little of the increased wealth, and the yearly pestilence is always harsh as winter sinks in. They have not had a terrible cold snap in almost six years, but Ferdinand dislikes how complacent his father has seemed when the topic is brought up.</p><p>So Ferdinand, for the past two years as he approached his entrance to society, spent more and more time riding. He read his lessons out in the fields and watched his people toiling away for pittance. He sat uncertain and ill at ease within the walls of his own home as his family flitted in and out. His father and him did look each other in the eye, and Ferdinand no longer was allowed to share the same interests as his sisters outside of occasional games of cards. Ferdinand imagined, in nervous, barely managed dreams, what would happen once he arrived in Enbarr and how he might embarrass himself and Aegir in the Season. </p><p>Instead, he did something that made the Emperor interested in him. Ferdinand has replayed in his head his Lone Moon presentation to Ionius and the breakfast with the royal family so many times. He had been, as usual, too enthusiastic as his father had immediately reminded him afterwards before they had parted. Ferdinand went to the young player’s practice and spent the next month training and only going out in the Season at his father’s behest to fill his seat at the Opera. </p><p>But then Ionius had followed through with his offer of sponsorship. Ferdinand would not say his performance was any better than the other three young players whom Ionius had selected from the Saint Macuil Day polo matches, but his selection for Ionius’s yearly cohort was the most notable with the unusual presence of a Kingdom noble, Sylvain Jose Gautier, a close second. In many ways, Ferdinand senses that he and his other fellows, Marianne von Edmund and Leonie Pinelli, have greatly benefited from the constant scandals Sylvain incurs. Sylvain’s philandering absolutely boggles Ferdinand, but people do pay much less attention to his lack of Season social life due to it. </p><p>Ferdinand does not miss the Season. He fails at the posturing and trips over his own words if he thinks too much. He is much better suited to be on horseback. With a polo mallet in hand and his horse, Citron, beneath him, Ferdinand feels as close to peace as he ever has. How Citron moves and breathes, the thud of her hooves and the ripple of her flanks: together, they fall into sync. Racing among the other players for the seven to eight minute spurts of the chukka:</p><p>There are no crowds. There are no people. There are only Citron, other horses, players, the ball, the mallet, the goal, and Ferdinand—</p><p>He is invincible. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>5.</b>
</p><p>Hubert does not get to watch the majority of the end of Season matches. </p><p>This is not an oddity. He is, first and foremost, Edelgard’s right hand, and he has many duties when she is in public. He must make sure that her food and drink are brought promptly, and he must foresee the attempts of others to approach her. Edelgard, alongside Ionius, speak to many, but it is Hubert’s job to keep the constant flow of people who wish to have an informal audience from becoming unmanageable. The only reprieve that Hubert gets is that Lord Arundel is not here and the Duke Aegir is otherwise occupied in the Prime Minister’s box. </p><p>“It is so curious that the Duke has barely boasted his son’s accomplishments!” the Baron von Ochs comments as he and Ionius share a glass of wine between the second and third chukkers of the Young Players Closing Match. “You know how Ludwie is; I never thought I’d see the day when he passes up a chance to blow his horn.”</p><p>“Perhaps it is the boy’s resemblance of his late wife,” Ionius says, and Hubert has to be very careful not to boggle because this is the second time that Ionius has brought this up. “It seems Ferdinand takes quite after her.” </p><p>“I didn’t know Ludwie had it in him to be sentimental,” the Baron muses, and Hubert realises that this particular angle would appeal to him as the Baron is a dedicated family man. “Still, it is strange not for him to brag. Why, perhaps I should take his place a bit! If you will indulge me, Your Majesties, of course, I must tell you about my Monica’s recent poem –”</p><p>Hubert takes that as his cue to turn his attention to other pressing matters. He takes up Edelgard’s empty dessert plate as she voices her interest in Monica’s poetry and moves to retrieve a couple of light ginger biscuits. The spread is decadent with delicacies from as far as Dadga, but Hubert knows Edelgard wishes to keep her appetite for teatime. Hubert has confirmed there will, in fact, be tiramisu, which is the dessert craze that swept the Fhirdiad court last month and has made its way to Enbarr in time for the closing. It is apparently made with coffee, which is the only reason Hubert has cared to remember more than the name. </p><p>“Hubert,” Edelgard says when he returns with her biscuits, “please take a moment and walk with me to watch the next chukka. It is just about to start.” </p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty,” Hubert says without needing to think.</p><p>He extends his arm for her to hold as they walk out of the recess of the royal box and to the railing. Edelgard holds his arm prefunctorially, more than capable if needed of walking or even leaping over the railing into the stands on her own. She lifts her free hand and motions with deceptive ease to the right of the field. </p><p>“I believe that is the infamous Sylvain Gautier on the black stallion,” she says as if she wouldn’t be absolutely certain of such a fact before voicing it. “Ferdinand von Aegir is on that sweet chestnut, and Marianne von Edmund is upon that dappled grey. I think Leonie Pinelli’s white is a club horse, but she is handling it very well.”</p><p>Hubert nods. Edelgard’s lips twitch, well-aware that Hubert has very little gifts with horses and almost no interest in polo. She lowers her extended hand to rest lightly on the railing, the white of her gloves bright against the burnished red paint. </p><p>Down on the field, Hubert watches the chukka. The opponents are from the Garreg Mach Polo Club, consisting of sons and daughters of Knights of Seiros. It is not as exciting a match up as last year, when opponents for the closing of the Season were from the Gloucester Polo Club, and the betting has clearly favoured the Enbarr Polo Club. From what Hubert can tell, the Young Player’s Match will have no upsets.</p><p>“It seems Constance was correct,” Edelgard says as the chukka draws to a close to rowdy cheers as Leonie stops a goal. “Sylvain is the most developed, but I do not think he will last much longer here in Enbarr. He has offended the most people, and his skill is mirrored by more mature players in our club.” </p><p>“You do not care for him,” Hubert says, very low.</p><p>“I have never met him,” Edelgard corrects without any admonishment in her tone. “Constance does not like him. I think her opinions of Ferdinand are biased as they have been prayer partners for many years, but he is sure and swift. I believe he and Leonie show the most promise, and Leonie is clearly hearty to play the Number Four.” </p><p>“I was not aware Constance and Ferdinand were so close,” Hubert says as Edelgard begins to turn them back into the recess of the box.</p><p>“Nuvelle and Aegir have much in common in business interests,” Edelgard says, which Hubert knows for their role in the Insurrection, “and Constance has told me that Ferdinand follows the teachings of Cichol as she does. I believe their mothers encouraged this.” </p><p>It is only his many years of service that allow Hubert to suppress his grimace. He and Edelgard are supposedly devouts of the teachings of Seiros, but only Hubert once took it seriously. In his early years, Hubert had taken reassurance from the stories of the Goddess’s mercy and forgiveness. Edelgard was never particularly interested but went along with it to be taught the axe, which Hubert had not understood until he lost his faith firmly and irrevocably during the Insurrection. The Goddess may have mercy and forgiveness, but She is empty and powerless to the shortsightedness and greed of humanity. </p><p>“Your Majesties, Baron,” Hubert murmurs once he has seen Edelgard reseated beside her father, who seems to be in a very positive and mild mood, and the very cheerful Baron von Ochs, “if you do not have further needs for half an hour, I will excuse myself to see to our tea time engagement’s arrangements.” </p><p>“Thank you, Hubert,” Edelgard says, her gaze forward upon the field; neither Ionius nor the Baron glance at him. “That will be all.” </p><p>Hubert bows and then makes himself scarce. He walks back towards the kitchens to grab a cup of water and a cloth to mop his face and neck. The warmth of the summer is sweltering, and Hubert would prefer to have to excuse himself for the restroom more often than risk fainting from dehydration or heatstroke. He has no envy for the players nor the horses, who are playing in the full sun and heat. </p><p>“Thank you,” he says as he hands his dirtied cloth and cup back to the kitchen staff member serving noble attendants. “Which way is it to the player’s dining hall and gazebo?”</p><p>“It is next to the stables and exercise arena,” the staff member says, motioning in the vague distance beyond the kitchen delivery area. “Do you wish to tour the facilities before Her Majesty’s tea?”</p><p>“Yes,” Hubert says, grateful that for once Edelgard’s needs have been considered beyond the immediate.</p><p>That is, he thinks to himself as he follows another member of the club’s hospitality staff to the player’s hall and accommodations, how it should be. Edelgard is the crown’s heir, and her needs should only be secondary to those of her father. Hubert is pleased to find that the tea room, which has a view of the exercise arena, is already being set up for private tea time with Edelgard’s favourite flowers, carnations, presented in a simple, stately arrangement. A box of bergamot tea blend is already set out as well. </p><p>“I believe the Young Aegir was here this morning,” the staff member says when Hubert picks up the box to inspect the import label. “The carnations are an arrangement by our in-house arranger. We understand that Her Majesty is like her father and prefers arrangements that set the flowers front and centre?”</p><p>“Yes, that is exactly correct,” Hubert says, perhaps a bit more brightly than he usually would, but the smile that appears on the staff member’s face is sincere and non-judgemental. “Please send my compliments to the arranger. I am glad that I came to see the arrangements beforehand. Her Majesty enjoys matching her jewelry to the flowers.” </p><p>“Certainly, my lord,” the staff member says, clearly attempting to hide a wider smile now. “Are there any other needs? The Young Aegir has asked for a selection of cakes, including our popular tiramisu, and some lavender and lemon biscuits.” </p><p>Hubert considers this carefully as he sets the tin back down. The servingware is the club’s set reserved for the Imperial family and associated guests, but the teaware is unfamiliar. Hubert picks up one of the bone china cups, flipping it over to look at the maker’s mark and finding it an import from Goneril. The cups, saucers, and pot are decorated with images of blue wyverns and clouds. It is a well-made set, even though there is no precious metal gilding. </p><p>“I believe that is the Young Aegir’s own,” the staff member says as Hubert sets the cup back down.</p><p>“The theme is whimsical,” Hubert says because he has never seen anything quite like it. “Does he intend to serve Her Majesty tea himself?” </p><p>The staff member pauses only momentarily before nodding. “He seems to take pride in his tea service skills,” they say with some familiarity, which means Ferdinand has served tea himself before since joining the club.</p><p>Hubert nods, somewhat uncertainly. Edelgard has no qualms about who serves tea, but it is a bit untoward for a presented bachelor of Ferdinand’s station to do so. Then again, Hubert is aware thanks to Baron von Ochs’ blattering that Ferdinand and his father may be on poor terms, and Ferdinand may be attempting to ready himself for an independent streak. If Ferdinand is in charge of his Season appointments and activities, he would be operating in a grey area of Adrestian etiquette and may be taking cues from the more fluid sensibilities of northern and eastern Leicester. He has, outside of the club, been seen regularly in the company of Marianne von Edmund, if only to escort her through the markets and shops. </p><p>“Thank you very much for your assistance,” Hubert says, filing these thoughts away for later. “I must return to Her Majesty now.” </p><p>“You are welcome, my lord,” the staff member says as Hubert inclines his head briefly.</p><p>He turns to make his way back across the club grounds to retrieve Edelgard’s change of clothes. They will have about an hour after the end of the match to change, and Hubert now has time to call back to the Castle for a different set of afternoon jewelry. The carnations are primarily white and pink, so the pale opal pendant set in white gold that Edelgard received last month will be an excellent fit. She has not worn it out since the gifting, so it is appropriate for a public appearance such as this. </p><p>If nothing else, Hubert thinks with some amount of self-soothing, Edelgard will get her tiramisu and be pleased. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>-5.</b>
</p><p>In the old tales:</p><p>The Emperor would found House Hresvelg and the soldier who would found the House Aegir had a duel. </p><p>It is a tale that Ferdinand grew up on but was banned from writing or speaking of following the success of his father’s coup. The operas, plays, and minstrel songs were also banned from being performed, although the bard and dancers’ tales could not be completely suppressed from the common pubs and taverns outside of Adrestia. Ferdinand, kept for the past couple of years almost entirely in Aegir, has known that his memory of those banned tales are particularly important.</p><p>So, in his ample time alone while riding in the morning or running about in the afternoon, he played a memory game with himself. He recited the lines of the old poems and songs beneath his breath when he was certain no one could hear him, and he sometimes did his weapons work to the tempo and cadence of the operas and ballet. It was imperfect, but Ferdinand liked to think he had done a good job by committing to memory as much as he could of these histories. </p><p>He does not know, even as he washes up quickly and dresses himself in what Marianne suggested for tea, if he can make any difference. If Edelgard or Hubert, who seem to move so well together within their own constraints, will be open to his company, let alone any deeper discussion in the future. He hopes, as he buttons his trousers, that they will not see too much of his father in him. </p><p>For Ferdinand loves his father, but he knows what sort of man he is. He has known this for many years, ever since he trailed alongside his mother as she tried to repair her reputation in face of Ludwig’s infidelities. </p><p>“People are not horses,” his mother had once said to him when she came to watch him on his childhood pony, Lily, “but they can be broken just the same.” </p><p>Ferdinand, looping the length of his caveat around his neck, looks at his expression. Although he has the Aegir colouring in his hair and eyes, his features bely his mother’s finer bone structure and height. If he is thrown from his horse, he risks worse injury than if he had taken after his father, who favoured heavy armour in his youth. He has taken Sylvain’s rare good advice to change his wardrobe with the modest salary allotted to young players, and it makes these qualities more obvious. </p><p>“Like, you don’t have to try to dress like you’re von Aegir when you’ve obviously got the right Crest,” Sylvain had said as Ferdinand stood as still as possible to avoid being stabbed by the tailor’s pins. “You’ve got a salary now and a patron; you can make your own choices.” </p><p><i>You should take some of your own advice,</i> Ferdinand wanted to say, but Sylvain was being unusually nice to him, so he just nodded. </p><p>Ferdinand straightens. He considers himself for a moment in the mirror. His hair is curling awkwardly in the heat, but it is unfashionable currently to slick it down. He has also tanned noticeably from all of his time out of doors, but that cannot be helped. Otherwise, he would estimate he looks fairly presentable, if rather provincial, for tea time with Edelgard, who is one of the few above his station, and Hubert, who is his social equal. </p><p>“Alright then,” Ferdinand says aloud before turning on his heels and hurrying to the dining hall, hoping against hope that he will not make a total fool of himself. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>6.</b>
</p><p>Edelgard is pleased in her unvoiced way that Hubert called for appropriate jewelry. They do not have time to share private thoughts as Hubert helps her change her current set that matched her father’s outfit of ivory and red. There are attendants hired by the club for the Season filtering in and out to take her spectator’s outer dress and shoes, and neither of them are able to trust outsiders. Hubert is aware that it is far too easy for his father alone to plant a spy. </p><p>“There will be tiramisu served for tea,” Hubert says as he laces Edelgard’s right shoe. “It seems Ferdinand made a request for the menu himself to match Bergamot.” </p><p>“That is excellent,” Edelgard says, which appears as high praise.</p><p>“I do hope,” she says in a low, confidential tone afterwards as they are walking together to the players’ arena and hall, “that Ferdinand did not finance this himself. The young player’s salary is not so great, and I am aware that this is not the Duke Aegir’s coin for once.” </p><p>It is quite clear to Hubert, as they ascend the short steps into the dining hall, that Ferdinand did finance this tea time himself. The food, water, and the tableware along with staff assistance is his right as a fully fledged club member, but everything else would be on Ferdinand’s own coin. It makes Hubert more than a little unsettled because he and Edelgard are left to wonder what Ferdinand’s game is. Or if he has a game at all, which is an even more daunting possibility. One piece of advice from his father that Hubert fully adheres to is that any unknown factor is just as if not more dangerous than a known threat.</p><p>Hubert finds himself strangely hesitant to label Ferdinand as a possible threat. Perhaps it is because he seems so transparent as to be a bit silly. Perhaps it is because he clearly knew he was disappointing his father at his initial presentation. Those are the only possibilities Hubert has the time to entertain as he helps Edelgard seat herself to tea as Ferdinand arrives, dressed in what Hubert is very surprised to recognise as an Enbarr style afternoon suit from the same tailor Hubert uses. The winged lapels are unmistakable.</p><p>“Your Majesty, Lord Hubert,” Ferdinand says, a bit too loud for inside of door and already breezing about to grab another seat that Hubert realises means that Ferdinand actually does mean for Hubert to sit tea with them, “I was so happy to receive your response to my belated invitation! Please, sit and be comfortable. I will get tea going. Is Bergamot to all of our liking or should I fetch something else?” </p><p>Edelgard glances at Hubert with a faintly raised eyebrow which means he must respond. Hubert tries to suppress his sudden swell of awkwardness as he forces himself to take the new seat. </p><p>“I am fine with Bergamot,” Hubert starts to say.</p><p>“Hubert prefers Dadga fruit blends and cinnamon blends,” Edelgard says with a serene and therefore extremely humoured smile as Ferdinand bustles around with moving his own setting to make room for an extra cup, saucer, plate, napkin, and utensils. “He is also very fond of coffee.”</p><p>“Coffee!” Ferdinand says as he folds the napkin over the top of Hubert’s plate, which is not the Enbarr habit. “That must be a more common taste here. I know the tiramisu contains it, which is perhaps why I have found it to be quite an adventure to taste. I shall call for a coffee pot.”</p><p>“You need not,” Hubert tries to say.</p><p>“That would be very gentlemanly,” Edelgard says, clearly enjoying Hubert’s discomfort. </p><p>Ferdinand smiles, strangely both humoured and guilelessly before turning and heading back to the door to poke his head out in the hall to wave down a staff member. Hubert looks at Edelgard, who smiles with great amusement at him, and then immediately away to avoid breaking his control further. Ferdinand straighten and returns to them, looking quite pleased.</p><p>“They do have coffee, and it will be here soon with the tiramisu,” he says, cheerful and little else to his tone. “I am very fond of the biscuits here, so I had asked they be include.”</p><p>He takes the Bergamot tin as he speaks and begins the process of measuring out for two in the Goneril pot. Edelgard examine the print of the wyvern for a long moment as Ferdinand wholeheartedly devotes himself to the tea preparation. Hubert is struck suddenly that this is the most relaxed that he has seen Edelgard all day. </p><p>“I am not familiar with this maker,” Edelgard says as Ferdinand sets the tin down and picks up the hot water pot. </p><p>“This is a maker in Goneril that Mari – ah, forgive me, Lady Edmund is fond of,” Ferdinand says, shaking his head slightly as he corrects his familiar address of his fellow young player. “I think they are in the employ of House Goneril. They’re a bit mysterious, but isn’t the print unique?”</p><p>“It is,” Edelgard says as Ferdinand rights the hot water pot and sets the lid back onto the main pot. “The wyvern is anatomically correct. I am pleased by that.” </p><p>Ferdinand’s entire expression and being seems to light up as he finally seats himself as well. “It is inspired,” he says with real enthusiasm as he adjusts the fabric of the middle finger of his right hand’s glove for comfort, “and I think the artist must have had opportunity to see wyverns in flight often for such accuracy.”</p><p>Edelgard starts to open her mouth to respond, but the tea cart with the coffee makes its appearance then. Ferdinand stands back up with great speed and only just avoiding knocking the table, effectively stopping Hubert from getting up as well and making a scene. He takes the coffee pot and opens the lid briefly, nose unconsciously wrinkling at the strong aroma before he shuts it.</p><p>“I have not had much opportunity to develop a taste for coffee,” Ferdinand says as he moves to pour it for Hubert as Edelgard’s attention is fully upon the tiramisu.</p><p>“It is a mature taste,” Hubert says before he realises that this sounds like a criticism; he hastens to add, “I think the oils put many off.” </p><p>“Hubert likes strong-tasting things,” Edelgard says as Ferdinand rights the coffee pot; the coffee does not dribble from the spout onto the saucer or table; it pours at exactly the correct angle not to spill a drop; “Ever since I have known him, he has abhorred all things remotely sweet.” </p><p>“Ah,” Ferdinand says, recovering and brightening again. “Perhaps it is like me and cream. We all have our preferences.” </p><p>“I do not much like game,” Edelgard says, a roundabout agreement as Ferdinand moves to pour them both tea, “but I do enjoy hunting. I like best when I may tell our huntsmaster to leave the whole of the day to me.”</p><p>“Even the butchering?” Ferdinand asks, fascinated even as the tea cart attendant fails to hide how scandalised he is by the conversation. </p><p>“That is my expertise,” Hubert says, cautious of the gossip that might arise from this conversation. </p><p>“That it is,” Edelgard acquiesces before she smiles again as the tea cart makes its way out and none of the fascination departs Ferdinand’s expression. “I am better suited for the ‘glorious hunt’ as they might put it in Faerghus and Hubert for the great humble work.” </p><p>Ferdinand finally has the opportunity to seat himself again. He starts to reach for a napkin on his plate before remembering, in Enbarr fashion, it has been set up under his right hand’s utensils. He takes it and Hubert assumes drapes it across his lap. </p><p>“Enbarr is an interesting place,” Ferdinand says as he reaches to take up his tea cup. </p><p>“Do you really find it so?” Edelgard asks, a mild but somewhat threatening question as she takes up her own teacup.</p><p>Ferdinand and Edelgard sip their tea. Hubert, slightly behind, does the same with his coffee. It is a regular Dadga blend and pleasant enough for one brewed by someone other than himself. Hubert returns his cup to the saucer and replaces it on the table at the same time as Edelgard and Ferdinand.</p><p>“I like the opera and the polo club best,” Ferdinand says, meeting Edelgard’s gaze with serious earnestness. “I think that I am too much Aegir, though, for Enbarr and Season society. My father and mother tried their best to teach me propriety and manners, but…” </p><p>Ferdinand shrugs and offers a rueful smile. Edelgard smiles back because there is no denying that Ferdinand is not following Enbarr or Season convention by having her and especially Hubert to tea. Hubert is ostensibly Edelgard’s chaperone, but it doesn’t quite work when he is seated at the table as an equal. </p><p>“But!” Ferdinand says, a little too loudly as he reaches over to retrieve himself a lemon biscuit from the two-tiered tea tower. “Enough heavy conversation! Have either of you got plans for the evening? I plan to accompany my fellow young players to the opera.” </p><p>Edelgard lips twitch as she takes this opening to dig into her generous serving of tiramisu. Hubert starts to reach for his coffee cup before catching on that, as Edelgard is about to have her mouth full for an undetermined period of time, he must answer this question. He feels his right hand continue with the motion as he unglues his jaw and lips. </p><p>“Her Majesty will also be attending the opera in the company of the Lady Constance von Nuvelle and her Honourable Mother,” Hubert says as he lifts the coffee and Edelgard makes an unbidden pleased noise upon tasting the tiramisu. “You are familiar with the Nuvelles?”</p><p>“Yes,” Ferdinand says, breaking his biscuit in half with a warm smile that reaches his eyes. “We have recently been debating Cichol’s theological argument that the Goddess is present and yet not present in all things on this Earth.” </p><p>“The teachings of Seiros argue the Goddess’s mercy protects all things regardless of presence,” Hubert says before taking a sip of his coffee, which is turning very mellow.</p><p>Ferdinand smiles. It does not quite reach his eyes. He breaks half of his biscuit in half again and, after glancing down, reaches out and dunks it in his tea. Edelgard quite happily continues eating the tiramisu. She closes her lips on the end of the spoon to take in every bit of cream, chocolate, and coffee-soaked lady fingers. </p><p>Hubert watches Ferdinand nibble off the tea-drenched end of his biscuit piece. The way his teeth appear only in slivers and do not make any audible sound as he chews and swallows. </p><p>“We are very blessed to have varied theological knowledge,” Ferdinand says as he returns his uneven biscuit to his plate. “It is important to give us perspective on our earthly circumstances.” </p><p>“Yes,” Hubert says and Ferdinand is looking at him, focused and knowing. “I am of the opinion that earthly things are of the utmost importance for my duties.” </p><p>Around her spoon and across the table, Edelgard and Ferdinand watch him. They do not smile nor frown. They do not mock nor judge.</p><p>In the years that come, sometimes Hubert wishes they did. Perhaps they could have prevented some of the uglier things. But Edelgard had set her path and Hubert never thought to stray. And Ferdinand –</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>-6.</b>
</p><p>It is a late evening among the dew flowers that Ferdinand, sitting beside Hubert as he plucks herbs from the greenhouse loam, says:</p><p>“Did you know I met you once before my Season presentation?” </p><p>Hubert pauses. He keeps his fingers upon the sweet flag stem but lifts his gaze to Ferdinand. In the pale lamplight, his eyes seem to glow faintly. It reminds Hubert of topaz.</p><p>“I was accompanying my mother,” Ferdinand says because Hubert’s silence is as good as an answer. “You were with your father. It was the Blue Sea Moon, almost twenty years ago now.” </p><p>Hubert lets go of the stem. He doesn’t rise, but he allows Ferdinand to take his hand. Gardening gloves against leather and silver gauntlets. </p><p>“I did not see you,” Hubert says because Ferdinand likes nothing better than the truth. “I remember your mother. She spoke very well. I thought she was quite tall.” </p><p>“She was very tall,” Ferdinand agrees as Hubert shifts to sit next to him on the bench. “As tall as you are, I think.” </p><p>Ferdinand closes the small distance. Leans against Hubert. His light armour digs into Hubert’s arm and shoulder. It is not unpleasant. </p><p>Above them, the Red Wolf Moon looms full. </p><p>“Tell me about the poison you are making,” Ferdinand murmurs. </p><p>Beneath the moonlight, Hubert does.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>7.</b> </p><p>On the 14th day of the Guardian Moon 1181, Edelgard von Hresvelg ascended to the throne of the Adrestian Empire. </p><p>The time between this event and the end of the Season of 1180 is, perhaps, the most chaotic and difficult time of Hubert’s life. Edelgard approached Ionius to step down on the first day of the Wyvern Moon 1180. Ionius immediately approved her request without issue, and then, before the court could get properly into an uproar, announced his recent cancer of the bowel diagnosis. It was a shock, including to Edelgard, who was forced to stand tall and unemotional to hide her new grief. Hubert’s own shock was too great to hide, but that helped the event take on a level of mysticism: the House Hresvelg putting on a strong and logical face in reaction to emotional court pageantry. </p><p>“My father’s trust in me is great,” was all Edelgard could say to Hubert late that evening as she finally got to eat a sandwich for her first meal of the day. </p><p>She could not say anything else. It would undermine her father’s foresight to create circumstances that would necessitate Edelgard be uncontested to the throne. Even Arundel, who had pinned his power on how well he could manipulate the Imperial family, would not be able to deny Ionius. To do so would create a succession crisis, and, with Faerghus and Leicester in more secure positions, it would be too easy for Arundel to loose control.</p><p>Hubert saw immediately how this situation necessitated a superficial but painful distance between himself and Edelgard. More than ever, the walls had ears. Neither Hubert nor Edelgard could be certain any longer that there weren’t also eyes.</p><p>“You have your own trust in your father,” Edelgard said as Hubert took her evening shoes from her feet, “but as he has been unfaithful to my father, I will not have him as my Minister. I will communicate changes today at the beginning of the morning session.”</p><p>“I understand,” Hubert said because he did.</p><p>Edelgard did not look directly at him. </p><p>It was better, Hubert would always think, that she did not. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>-7.</b>
</p><p>In the early morning following the ascension of Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg, it is said that the Minister of the Imperial Household suffered and died from a heart attack attributed to coronary disease and exasperated by stress. His son, Hubert von Vestra, inherited the title of Marquis but, due to his own request to observe a mourning period, did not accept the Emperor’s offer of equally hereditary offer of the position of Minister until the next year. The new Marquis retreated from the majority of his courtly duties aside from carrying the Emperor’s messages as he mourned.</p><p>It is said that, in this reduced but dedicated capacity, Hubert von Vesta carried upwards of forty unique messages per day. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>8.</b>
</p><p>“I have heard tell,” Ferdinand says as he trots his horse to the side of the training rink, “that you are drinking the Dadga merchants out of their coffee bean stocks.” </p><p>Hubert rolls his eyes but does not bother telling Ferdinand otherwise. He has drunk so much coffee to stay awake during Edelgard’s ascension and purging of the court during the past month that he had to tap into his personal savings to fuel his habit. The coffee stopped tasting any good, but that was because he was brewing it quickly and efficiently for its energising qualities rather than taste and appreciation. He drank too much and ate rather too little, and there was no one to reprimand him because he was, effectively, in social exile even from Edelgard, who had to keep herself untouchable from the court and larger society. </p><p>“I think your silence is rather telling,” Ferdinand says, and he smiles, all pink lips and white teeth.</p><p>“Perhaps I have taken up baking,” Hubert says, which widens Ferdinand’s smile so that it reaches his eyes and brightens them with mirth.</p><p>“I think you are many things, Marquis,” Ferdinand says with false demureness, “but a baker is not one of them.” </p><p>Hubert snorts. He doesn’t have recourse to make a retort, though, because Ferdinand’s attention is captured by his fellow young player, Leonie, calling out a greeting as she arrives along with several polo club staff members. Ferdinand smiles wider and waves back, and Hubert inclines his head in a polite non-verbal greeting as Leonie and her companions spot him. They all regard Hubert with some curiosity, although somehow less intrusive than the court attention Hubert is used to receiving. </p><p>“You should tell them you are now a baker,” Ferdinand says, drawing Hubert’s attention back if only to level him an unamused eyebrow. “The rumour is that you may permanently give up the position of Minister of the Imperial Household, you know.” </p><p>Hubert frowns before he can stop himself. “Do you take stock in such things?” </p><p>Something closes off about Ferdinand’s expression. He does not move upon his horse, but the calm, amused light to his eyes is gone. Hubert is not sure why. </p><p>“I do not care much for idle gossip,” Ferdinand says, mild but firm. “It is often unkind.” </p><p>Hubert inclines his head. Agreement and acquiescence. The turn of the mood in their conversation is his fault. Hubert does not bother even considering the excuse that he is prickly due to mourning. Ferdinand may not know Hubert’s relationship was with his father, but it is insulting to assume Ferdinand, who is clearly tuned into the major rumours, has not heard the hushed mutterings of the actual truth. </p><p>No one is sad the former Marquis von Vestra is dead. Hubert, just like every other creature, still has to play at propriety. Part of keeping up a good mourning facade is to talk about his father. Hubert has no desire for this, so he must speak of other things. </p><p>“There is a difference between rumours and opinions,” Hubert says because Ferdinand seems the type to enjoy some philosophy. “You may not care for idle gossip, but it is the currency of Enbarr whether you like it or not. You cannot convince me that you have no opinions regarding the vacancy to the Prime Minister position at this time.”</p><p>Ferdinand is quiet for a long moment. He sits with his hands upon his horse’s reins. His gaze shifts back to Leonie as she leans leisurely on the railing and chats with the two remaining staff members. In the mid-afternoon light, the ends of his hair that escape his hat are bright against the black fabric and white strap. </p><p>“I do have opinions,” he says, not turning his gaze back to Hubert, “but I am also dependent on the continued sponsorship of House Hresvelg. I am pleased to be available so long as I may be here. I do miss the fields of Aegir, but I doubt my family deeply misses me.” </p><p>This essentially confirms Hubert’s suspicion that Ferdinand does not have recourse to his father’s purse. It also raises a great many questions that are not appropriate to be discussed in a public place like this. Ferdinand does not look to Hubert. The only real indication that he is more engaged in Hubert’s presence than in Leonie’s conversation is uncoordinated squeezing of the reins. </p><p>These emotional complexities are not Hubert’s forte. He has, however, spent his whole life learning to read them to best serve Edelgard. They need all the allies they can get, even if there are unpredictable variables.</p><p>“I would be grateful,” Hubert begins, and something in his tone draws Ferdinand’s gaze to him with faintly raised eyebrows, “to return the kind favour you showed Her Majesty and myself at the Closing of the Season.”</p><p>“Oh?” Ferdinand says, eyebrows climbing higher and starting to turn before remembering himself upon his horse. “Are you quite certain? I –”</p><p>“I have no preconceived notions of your position,” Hubert says, perhaps a little too bluntly but sometimes that is better than allowing someone like Ferdinand, who is very in tune with the dance of manners, more time to react. “I believe in returning a favour well-received, and Her Majesty did quite enjoy our tea time together.” </p><p>“Oh,” Ferdinand says, blinking and clearly not entirely sure how to properly react aside from acquiescing: “Well, so did I.”</p><p>Hubert does not smile, but it is a near thing. There is something about Ferdinand. He is strange, which makes him interesting, and Hubert still cannot find any evidence, concrete or intuition-based, to indicate he is anything but what he appears to be. </p><p>“I will have to check Her Majesty’s schedule,” Hubert says although he has a very good guess that Edelgard’s next free afternoon that would coincide with Ferdinand’s schedule will be about a week away. “Please expect an invitation in the next day.” </p><p>“Yes, of course,” Ferdinand says, and he smiles, both pleased and abashed; Hubert discovers he enjoys the notion that it is sincerely offered. “I must apologise: I have not been paying much attention to court fashion –”</p><p>“Do not concern yourself with that,” Hubert says because he does not want Ferdinand to go buy new clothes just for this. “Her Majesty is not keen on the current fashion.”</p><p>“Oh,” Ferdinand says.</p><p>He is less baffled and more thoughtful. Hubert finds himself leveled with a gaze somewhere between idle consideration and astute cataloguing. It is disconcerting. Hubert gets the impression that Ferdinand has gained something from this information that Hubert did not intend to give away. </p><p>“That is good for me to know,” Ferdinand says, smiling politely as Hubert desperately attempts to regain his footing. “I do endeavour to please.” </p><p>Hubert –</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>-8.</b>
</p><p>The ground is soft beneath Hubert’s boots. Rain droplets hit and slide off the ends of his umbrella. Until recently, Hubert never owned his own umbrella. There was little use for one in Enbarr, and he rarely went to the port where the fog brought in semi-regular drizzle. </p><p>The whole month since they have been in Ordelia has featured steady rain and little sun. Hubert does not know if it is normal for Ordelia to have this much rain, and he is unwilling to ask. </p><p>“You seem worried.”</p><p>Ferdinand does not look up from his contemplation of the ridge. Hubert follows his pursed lips and gaze. There is low cloud cover and mist obscuring the higher points. Over these hills lie Goneril and, further to the north-east, the Throat. </p><p>“Hubert,” and Ferdinand’s voice is too soft; it makes Hubert’s skin prickle even as he steps forward instinctively. “We are alone.”</p><p>Hubert stands less than an arm length away. This close, he can tell how Ferdinand has grown recently. Before, in their days across the Enbarr tea tables, Ferdinand always had to lift his chin to look Hubert in the eye, much the same as Edelgard does. Now, he still lifts his eyes, but the angle is not as sharp. The remaining youthful shape to his cheeks is fading, too. Hubert thinks it makes him elegant rather than simply handsome. </p><p>“Does that bother you?”</p><p>Ferdinand’s lips twitch. Not a smile. Nor a frown. He is not particularly expressive when it comes to any emotion he deems less than pleasant. It is something that Hubert wishes he understood about Ferdinand earlier. </p><p>“I think you and I understand quite a lot about loneliness,” Ferdinand says, calm and almost mild.</p><p>This is true. Ferdinand does not move. Hubert is very aware of the space between them. The sparse raindrops drip off Hubert’s umbrella and join the grass and dirt between them. It will be mud by mid-afternoon. </p><p>“Ferdinand,” Hubert says, and his voice is soft enough for the pattering of rain to drown out, “let us go somewhere dry.” </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>9.</b>
</p><p>The tea engagement of the Emperor Edelgard and new Marquis Hubert von Vestra with Ferdinand von Aegir is, unfortunately, a known entity on the Enbarr court calendar. Hubert is, against his logical sense, annoyed by this because this means Ferdinand is made to enter the castle through the front as is proper of a guest. The court gossip makes certain that the usual rubberneckers make their appearance, muttering amongst themselves idle judgement of everything from Ferdinand’s build to how Ludwig must be absolutely beside himself. </p><p>“Is the young Aegir a fun tea companion, Marquis?” Fleche Bergliez asks as Hubert walks past her and several others whom Edelgard has been considering for her ladies in waiting. “I wasn’t aware that you and El were friends with him.” </p><p>“He is adequate at conversation,” Hubert says as he keeps moving to avoid getting trapped. “Good afternoon.” </p><p>“Oohh,” is the hum that follows Hubert’s back.</p><p>Hubert could smack himself across the face. He should not have provided anything to enhance the gossip, especially since he does not have much idea of what Edelgard wishes to gain from this tea party. This is not like such engagements during the Season when everyone is expected to make business and personal appointments. In these early days of Edelgard’s rule, everything and everyone she choses to associate with appears to have as much bearing as everything and everyone else. </p><p>Ferdinand is in the process of handing his horse off to a stablehand when Hubert comes down the front steps into the main courtyard. He looks up and to Hubert as he extracts a bronze coin from his purse. The stablehand takes it and is notably delicate in leading Ferdinand’s horse away. </p><p>“There is no need for that,” Hubert says as he comes into greeting range of Ferdinand, who fully turns to him. </p><p>“You have already spared me a trip to the tailor,” Ferdinand points out with a mild smile. </p><p>He is wearing the same outfit as he did at his Season presentation. The only new piece is his shirt, which fits him somewhat better than the shoulders of his vest and day jacket. Hubert is aware that he himself has not grown since fall fittings the year before, but House Vestra tends to grow early and come to a stop. </p><p>“His Majesty’s patronage is his happiness,” Hubert says as Ferdinand joins him back up the steps of the castle. “He sends ‘warm regards’.”</p><p>“Oh,” Ferdinand says, blinking before he tries to smile through a brief wobble. “I am glad. I hope that he is comfortable these days.” </p><p>“He asks for the polo scores each day upon waking,” Hubert says because in the increasingly rare times that Ionius is awake, that is precisely what he asks after.</p><p>“I hope they keep him in good spirits,” Ferdinand says, very sincerely.</p><p>Hubert blinks. It is essentially the perfect response. The Season is over, and there have therefore been no official matches played for the past month. Ionius’s health has all but completely collapsed since he passed the Horns of Seiros to Edelgard. She has read him the scores of recent practice and recreational matches each morning whether or not he seems conscious. </p><p>“Yes,” Hubert says because that is all that can be said.</p><p>They pass beneath the great chandelier that divides the entrance from the main hall and its staircases. Hubert keeps his gaze towards the eastern wing where tea is being set up under Constance von Nuvelle’s watchful eye. She is the only member of Edelgard’s trial ladies in waiting that Hubert trusts enough to not do anything untoward to unattended food and drink. It is Edelgard’s hope that she will be able to convince the Lady Varley to bring Bernadetta back to court, but that will take some time due to her husband and father-in-law’s ousting. </p><p>“I have received word,” Hubert says as Ferdinand gaze trails over a set of ornamental armour that adorns the wall near to the eastern billiard room, “that your favourite teas are Almyran Pine Needles and Southern Fruit Blends.” </p><p>“Oh, yes,” Ferdinand says, his eyes flickering back to the armour once before meeting Hubert’s gaze. “I am also fond of Seiros Tea.”</p><p>“I believe we are having a fruit blend that should suit your tastes,” Hubert says, watching the way Ferdinand clearly perks up. “Miss Constance von Nuvelle has gotten Her Majesty into it.” </p><p>“Miss Constance does know her tea,” Ferdinand says as Hubert slows before the tea room’s doors. “She had mentioned that she is trying to introduce more tea from the west to Her Majesty.”</p><p>“Perhaps it is one of those,” Hubert says as he opens the doors, lowering his head as he announces. “Your Majesty, Lord Ferdinand von Aegir is arrived for tea.” </p><p>“Thank you, Hubert,” Edelgard says as Hubert straightens to see her seated already at the table, which is laid out with a set of sandwiches and dessert tiers of fairy cakes and chocolates. “Welcome, my Lord Ferdinand.”</p><p>“Thank you for Your Majesty’s graciousness to have me to tea,” Ferdinand says as he steps forward beside Hubert and bows.</p><p>“No need for that, either of you,” Edelgard sighs, waving her hand in muted resignation.</p><p>Hubert does not point out that they cannot skip this charade of politeness and manners because it is something Edelgard very much knows. Ferdinand straightens, a tinge of nervousness still on his face before he attempts to cover it with a bright smile. It lacks the easy false charm most court creatures have. It does not make Hubert’s skin prickle.</p><p>It strikes Hubert, quite suddenly, that he may be a little fond of Ferdinand von Aegir. </p><p>“Please,” Edelgard says before either Hubert or Ferdinand are forced to come up with words to masquerade their different uncertainties, “come sit. The tea has just been poured and will become cold otherwise.” </p><p>“Oh, yes, of course,” Ferdinand says, a burst of nervous energy before he moves to take the seat by the window that Edelgard motions him towards; “I have been looking forward to this.” </p><p>“Constance has been a great help,” Edelgard says as Hubert makes his own way to sit at the place adjacent to the doors. “You should be aware: I am no tea aficionado, and my only culinary expertise is solidly with my sole pleasure in eating sweets.” </p><p>“You are not picky,” Hubert says as Edelgard adds a scoop of sugar to her tea.</p><p>“And you, my dear Hubert, are,” Edelgard says as Ferdinand picks up his teacup to inhale. “I’m afraid this tea will not be to your taste, but I think you have been consuming too much coffee recently.” </p><p>Ferdinand clearly have to stop a laugh from escaping his lips by pressing them briefly very firmly shut. His eyes, which had taken on a slightly panicked expression as he was seating himself, settle into a cheered brightness that much better matches his countenance. </p><p>“Even a serving of tiramisu leaves me with shakes,” Ferdinand admits. </p><p>“Ah, tiramisu,” Edelgard sighs in glorious reflection.</p><p>She sets her teaspoon down upon the saucer and lifts her cup to her lips. Hubert inwardly steels himself as he picks up his own cup. It is a pleasant deep purple colour and smells strongly of berries. He sips his as Ferdinand does and immediately has to control his face’s expression. Ferdinand, who is watching him, swallows, his eyes sparkling with mirth.</p><p>“You see, Hubert does not like it,” Edelgard says as she returns her cup to her saucer.</p><p>“No,” Hubert says, setting his cup down as quickly as he can to avoid spilling it or making noise. </p><p>“It is sweet and equally tangy,” Ferdinand says, still holding his cup and looking like he is having the time of his life. “It reminds me of a more wintery Sweet Apple Blend. I love to drink that in the summer.” </p><p>“Constance suggested this would go with light fish sandwiches,” Edelgard says, reaching out to serve herself a tea sandwich.</p><p>“Oh, excellent,” Ferdinand says, completely unbidden as he helps himself as well. </p><p>Hubert keeps his mouth shut, trying to show as little of his sudden attraction to Ferdinand as possible. He serves himself a couple of the sandwiches because he has absolutely no interest in the dessert tier and also senses he will need an excuse to fill his mouth in this tea party. </p><p>They speak, with Edelgard guiding the conversation, of inconsequential things through their sandwiches and the first cup of tea. Hubert does not have to speak much, even though he is at the tail end of his mourning period and Edelgard and Ferdinand both clearly know that he is not actually mourning. Hubert is more than a little curious how Ferdinand has deduced that, but he supposes it is not hard to miss. The one skill Hubert utterly lacks is the ability to put on emotions he simply does not have. </p><p>It is as Hubert pours all of them a new cup of tea, now much more deeply brewed to accompany desserts, that Edelgard comes more onto the true purpose of the day. </p><p>“I have been wondering, Ferdinand,” Edelgard says as Hubert switches their used plates out, “how you have been since the upheaval of my court.”</p><p>Ferdinand’s expression closes off. He inclines his head politely to Hubert as he accepts a clean plate, using the moment to compose himself. He does not do a very good job of it. </p><p>“I have been well,” Ferdinand says as Hubert begins to serve Edelgard one of each of the two types of chocolate and a fairy cake. “I like to work hard, you see, and my current role with the Young Players keeps me very satisfied. I have also taken up weapons work again with Your Majesty’s Lord Father’s kind permission.</p><p>“But,” he continues, and his eyes flicker with a sharper light that matches the way his teeth press together briefly as he breathes, “I have had family difficulties. It is not solely due to Your Majesty’s reorganisation, but my father’s dismissal has not, ah, improved us.”</p><p>Hubert does not have to imagine what Ludwig’s ire could possibly be like, in person or in writing. He serves Ferdinand the same as Edelgard before taking the last tea sandwich for himself and sitting down.</p><p>“Your hard work does bring my father joy,” Edelgard says after Hubert settles himself. “I had heard Duke Aegir departed directly for home following my ascension, and I had wondered a little after you.” </p><p>“He did,” Ferdinand says, rather stilted. “I apologise for his ungracious behaviour.” </p><p>Edelgard’s lips pull into a frown. “That is not for which you should apologise,” she says, a little sharp before taking a breath and reaching for her tea. “I will be more direct: I would like to know your thoughts regarding his dismissal.” </p><p>“My thoughts,” Ferdinand echoes before he presses his lips together to silence himself.</p><p>Hubert takes this as a careful moment to put more of his sandwich into his mouth. Ferdinand swallows, the movement visible over his collar and in the line of his jaw. He glances briefly at Hubert, who chews as neatly and sedately as possible, before returning a pinched look to Edelgard, who returns her cup to her saucer. </p><p>“You know my father well,” Ferdinand says, strained and direct, “and therefore I know much of why you would dismiss him from the position of Prime Minister. I grew up with Lord Arundel and others visiting, and I have some notion of my father’s…” </p><p>He trails off briefly. His gaze breaks briefly, flicking to the window. He catches himself and looks back to Edelgard again. </p><p>“I like to believe my father is an intelligent man,” he says, less strained but somehow more unkind for it, “but he does not think much of the future. He believes too much in earthly pleasures. I believe he has taken the worst qualities of our Crest of Cichol and has become warped by them. He enjoys his income, but it is never enough, and Aegir and Adrestia suffer for it.” </p><p>Edelgard, who had eaten one of the chocolates as Ferdinand spoke, swallows. She does not smile, but her eyes are bright and focused. Hubert takes care to eat the rest of his sandwich. </p><p>“You have some notion of the recent trade issues in Ordelia and Hyrm then.” </p><p>Ferdinand jerks his head minimally in a nod. “I know my father had a hand in the disruption,” he confirms but with less fear or discontent than Hubert expected.</p><p>Edelgard’s eyebrows rise as well. “And you know that we could have had war over that, if not for Arundel and your father’s management of the General Bergliez’s harassment of Alliance troops.”</p><p>Ferdinand is quiet for a moment. He regards Edelgard with a carefulness that he hadn’t offered her before. </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“Do you think we should have gone to war?” Edelgard asks, so baldly that Hubert nearly chokes on the last of his sandwich.</p><p>Ferdinand glances briefly at Hubert to make sure he is not about to spit all over the table. Hubert waves a hand, cursing himself for misreading his own ability to eat properly, and Ferdinand returns his attention to Edelgard.</p><p>“I think it would have been unwise.”</p><p>“Why?” Edelgard asks in her particular tone that warns of a smile.</p><p>“Adrestia as a belligerent would be weaker against the whole of the Alliance,” Ferdinand answers without hesitation; he sits a little straighter, clearly more confident on this topic than the previous. “Our noble Houses have gutted themselves on in-fighting for the past decade. The Alliance and the Kingdom are in much better condition, and their noble Houses have invested in training their heirs for the battlefield.”</p><p>“Is it not more appropriate to have a noble mind and education than battlefield experience?” Edelgard asks, and she smiles, cold and a little amused. </p><p>“War is a natural part of state-making,” Ferdinand says, and Hubert finds himself both strangely drawn to and deeply put off by how matter of fact he states this. “If it is in the interest of one body to have control over another, then war is a good option to achieve that.”</p><p>“Do you believe that we have such action to fear from the Kingdom or the Alliance?” Edelgard asks in the same tone as she asks for Hubert’s assessment of the weather each morning. </p><p>“I believe if Adrestia seems to have weaknesses, anything should be expected,” Ferdinand says, and his eyes drift again to the window before returning. “While he is regrettable in his social conduct, I believe what Sylvain has shared with me about Gautier’s position with defending the northern border from Sreng has much bearing for us.”</p><p>It is a moment when Hubert realises at the same time as Edelgard that this is something that Ionius must have foreseen. Ferdinand and his fellow Young Players are all from very different parts of Fódlan. The trouble in Hyrm and Ordelia revealed great weaknesses in Adrestia’s overall ability to maintain and defend its own territory as well as the current impossibility of expansion. Ionius chose his Young Players on purpose for Edelgard. She just needed to discover how to use them. </p><p>Ionius may have been a weak Emperor, but there is no one he loves as dearly as his daughter. </p><p>“Sylvain does not seem to lack in intellect,” Edelgard says after a brief pause. </p><p>“No,” Ferdinand agrees, and his gaze remains steady upon hers. “I believe he intends to return home for the winter defense if he is called.” </p><p>Edelgard inclines her head. She reaches for her fairy cake, which allows Ferdinand to do the same for one of the chocolate. Hubert, against his better judgement, picks up his teacup. They take a couple of minutes to eat and drink. The tea is awful. Edelgard enjoys her fairy cake. Hubert cannot tell what Ferdinand thinks of the chocolate, but it seems he isn’t sure of his opinion himself as he chews it for a longer time than it merits. His attention seems to drift, and his head starts to turn again towards the window. </p><p>It strikes Hubert that Ferdinand is not the type of person who keeps well inside.</p><p>“Ferdinand,” Edelgard says. </p><p>Ferdinand blinks. He raises his gaze. He meets her eyes.</p><p>Outside, the winter weather is mild. </p><p>“Are you our friend?”</p><p>Ferdinand does not smile. Nor does he frown. He looks exactly as he does upon the polo field, rising up on his horse’s back and orange hair escaping in the breeze:</p><p>He is powerful and free. </p><p>“I do not know,” Ferdinand says, and it is honest and clear as nothing born and of Enbarr ever will be. “I am a grateful recipient of your father’s patronage, and, by my father, I am von Aegir. I have enjoyed having tea with you, and I have also enjoyed conversing with Hubert when he has recently visited the polo club. I like to think you invited me today because I am suitable company. But other than these things, I make no presumptions as to whom I may be to you.” </p><p>Edelgard regards him. Remote and regal. It is the expression she wore when she stood before the court and dismissed her father’s enemies. The Horns of Seiros fit neatly upon her head. Sun-bleached ivory nestled in her chestnut hair.</p><p>“Then,” Edelgard says, and she smiles, slow and sedate with a flash of teeth, “I would like you to consider being our friend.” </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>-9.</b>
</p><p>The windflowers in Gronder Field are the colour of the Blaiddyd banners. Dimitri is, of course, not here. Gronder is securely Adrestian territory and has been for four centuries. It is the breadbasket of Fodlan. It is a great part of what makes the Empire strong. </p><p>“I think this one does you no favours,” Ferdinand says as he holds a plucked blossom up to where Hubert’s cheek meets the longer part of his fringe. “The blue washes you out.”</p><p>“I am not someone to compare to flowers,” Hubert says, even as Ferdinand soothes a petal against the curve of his cheek. </p><p>“If these were a different colour, it would be a good comparison,” Ferdinand says, lowering the flower to tuck into the clasp of Hubert’s collar. “If it was purple, it would look like your magic.”</p><p>“It will wilt,” Hubert says even as Ferdinand ties off the fresh green stem on the clasp. “With or without exposure to my magic.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Ferdinand says, warm and secretive. </p><p>Hubert gazes at him. His hair is growing long. The spear at his back and his light flying armour glint in the noonday sun. </p><p>Around them, the windflowers flutter in the breeze.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>10.</b>
</p><p>Winter settles in and Ionius passes away on the 29th day of the Guardian Moon 1181. </p><p>It is a peaceful passing. Ionius is not conscious for the last three days of his life. Hubert, who had returned to his normal duties on the 15th day of the Guardian Moon, is there to keep Edelgard informed on court proceedings and other important information as she remains by her father’s side. Despite his unconsciousness, Edelgard still reads him the news and updates him even on the morning of his passing on the goings on at the polo club. </p><p>“He left a while ago,” she says when Hubert comes to assist her to a hot bath after the physician and his team declare Ionius officially dead. “Reading and talking to him was more for me than anyone else.” </p><p>“He would have appreciated your presence,” Hubert says because Edelgard’s father and last living immediate family is dead, and he doesn’t care about gossip for once. </p><p>“He did it for my step-mother and siblings,” Edelgard says, and she does not look at Hubert as they walk; her eyes are very bright. “I did only what he deserved.” </p><p>Constance and Bernadetta are in Edelgard’s reception room when they arrive, ready to help her redress before afternoon audiences. They exchange pleasantries with Hubert, but he senses that this is a moment when Edelgard needs their attention more than his. It is not a poor reflection upon Hubert’s character, but rather an astute one. Hubert has never been good at proving emotional support, and that is what Edelgard needs now rather than Hubert’s awkward, insufficient words. </p><p>Still, Hubert must ask: “Will that be all, Your Majesty?” </p><p>“Yes,” Edelgard says, already bowing her head so that Bernadetta can help fix her hair and the Horns of Seiros. “Thank you, Hubert.”</p><p>Hubert bows, straightens, and very carefully turns without looking anyone in the eye as he steps back out into the hall.</p><p>It leaves Hubert at odds and ends. He has no immediate tasks as he cleared his schedule for the day and evening to be available to Edelgard whenever and however she needs him. He also cannot commit himself to any task that cannot be interrupted, so the majority of the missives, letters, and audits on his desk are out of the question. By the morrow, everyone’s schedule will be completely taken over by the planning and arranging of Ionius’s funeral. Today is the only time Edelgard will have to grieve.</p><p>He finds himself, after a few minutes of walking in the general direction of his own quarters, at the southern windows. Hubert slows until he stops in the extended alcove where the windows meet at an angle and the hall curves. In Hubert’s very brief youth, he used to dawdle here in the short time between breakfast and lessons. He would crane his neck up to see if he could see a pegasus or wyvern flying overhead on the training paths. Back then, he liked to imagine that, if he was assigned to Edelgard’s elder brother, who was a wyvern rider, or her elder sister, who was a pegasus rider, he might learn, too. By the time the plague took them, Hubert was already at Edelgard’s side with the knowledge neither of them would ever ride or fly. </p><p>Against better sense, Hubert lets himself approach the windows. All of the cavalry and aerial exercises are completed for the day, but it overlooks the training yard and the castle’s garrison facilities. At midday, even in the winter, it is bustling with the infantry running exercises and the weapons master's giving lessons to recent recruits and those from the town and the castle who want to hone their skills. </p><p>It is easy to pick out Ferdinand down below, his hair giving him away in a splash of orange in the otherwise drab training field. He is currently engaged in a sword match against a man of similar height but greater bulk under the watchful eye of the swordmaster. Hubert blinks, surprised despite himself. He has been aware that Ferdinand, in the lull between polo seasons, had requested permission from Ionius to train with the Enbarr cavalry, but Hubert had not realised he was participating in weapons exercises as well. </p><p>Ferdinand was, in Hubert’s estimation from his alcove perch, not fair to himself with how he had described his swordsmanship at his presentation. In the training yard, Ferdinand on his feet is as agile as he is on horseback. He is much less flashy than his reference to Manuela’s famous sword dance implied. Hubert watches closely how Ferdinand ducks his larger opponent. He is conservative in his movements to best utilise natural momentum to recover quickly and go onto the offensive. Hubert is no expert in swords, except to use a Levin piece when needed, but he has spent enough time training with Edelgard and at his lance to appreciate this. </p><p>He lingers for far longer than he will ever admit, watching Ferdinand down below and thinking of little else at all. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>-10.</b>
</p><p>In the northern glasshouse, Hubert finds Ferdinand tending the asphodel. He does not look up as Hubert approaches. His hair, braided in this winter’s style, has random flyaways from the crown of his head to the ends. It threatens to stray from his binding ribbon. </p><p>“I missed you at breakfast.” </p><p>Ferdinand doesn’t look up. He traces his fingers over the leaves, checking them for spots or bugs. Most of the leaves are small because Bernadetta plucks them to wrap the fresh cheese she has created from the thick, fatty milk of the Gautier cows Edelgard purchased for her on her birthday two years ago. </p><p>“Is something bothering you?”</p><p>Hubert keeps his gaze on Ferdinand’s hands. Fingers. He pinches off between his fingertips the few spotty leaves and the bugs. The diseased rejects and squashed corpses collect on a piece of scrap parchment beside Ferdinand’s knee on the side of the planting box. </p><p>Hubert takes a deep breath. </p><p>Steps forward.</p><p>He kneels down by Ferdinand’s left side. Ferdinand’s expression is focused and flat, but his eyes are too bright. He is not blinking regularly. </p><p>Hubert undoes the clasps on his mage gloves. Slides his hands out. The glasshouse air is warmer than outside, but Hubert’s skin find it almost unbearably hot. He flexes his fingers briefly before taking the end of Ferdinand’s braid and beginning the process of undoing the ribbon’s tight knot. </p><p>Ferdinand smushes a beetle between his thumb and forefinger. </p><p>“Sometimes,” and his voice is gravelly as Hubert eases his hair out of its braid, “I wonder if it matters what I think.” </p><p>Hubert cards his fingers through the loops. Tries to ease them out without snagging or tangling. Ferdinand’s hair has a wildness to it that makes it prone to fraying and knotting. He hasn’t been oiling it. </p><p>Hubert breathes in. Ferdinand shifts and wipes the smashed beetle on the parchment. It leaves an uneven streak. </p><p>They sit like this, Ferdinand tending the asphodel and Hubert braiding and unbraiding his hair, for a very long time. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>11.</b>
</p><p>The week that leads up to Ionius’s funeral is one that Hubert has difficulty revisiting for the rest of his life. </p><p>It is different than any other week, even the one directly after the Insurrection. Then, Hubert was young, but Edelgard was younger, and she clung to him in the pockets of time when it was safe to do so. Ionius was who she had really wanted, but he was not available, and Hubert had only hoped that he could provide an ounce of comfort in her father’s stead. </p><p>But now Ionius is truly gone, and Edelgard is remote to everyone, including Hubert. She manages both the court and the preparations entirely on her own accord. Hubert finds himself completely shut out of her thoughts and confidence. He is regulated, just as Constance and Bernadetta are, to official duties and assistance. Edelgard, in her grief, holds her heart close and her thoughts even closer, and she only wishes to speak of the most pertinent things to everyone. </p><p>“I am sure it will not last,” Bernadetta says, her eyes watery and very, very sad. “These are difficult times, and everyone else wants to see her break, so Her Majesty must appear strong.” </p><p>“She must be unmoveable,” Constance agrees, but she does not look Bernadetta or Hubert in the eye as they depart for their afternoon engagements. </p><p>Hubert has a thousand and one projects, missives, and memorandums on his desk, but he takes one look at the disarray of the Minister of the Imperial Household’s study and cannot find it in himself to do more than stand in the open door before his body turns itself around. The door swings shut behind him. Hubert’s feet carry him away from the office a part of him still mentally refers to as his father’s without his consent or a shred of a plan in his head. </p><p>He walks for a long time through the castle. The carpets are heavier for the winter weather, and they muffle the fall of his boots. He passes by the conservatory where he used to sit elementary magic, reading, and writing lessons with Edelgard’s twin brothers,  who had been his agemates. Neither of them had borne the Crest of Seiros, but they had been bright, boisterous, and healthy and had talent for magic. For the short years Hubert sat lessons with them, they had had such childish fun learning to cast Fire. </p><p>These are useless, sad thoughts, and their surfacing in his mind makes Hubert unreasonably angry. Hubert does not like to think about the past aside from what he needs to know to move forward alongside Edelgard. Without her to direct him, Hubert finds himself to be a terribly sentimental and insecure creature. It is unbecoming. He despises this part of himself. </p><p>Perhaps this is why his wandering leads him down to the stables. He has, patently, no business at the stables. Hubert has never been a strong rider and has little passion for the horses and wyverns who tolerate him. He has always adored the pegasi, but they have no tolerance for him. The only reason Hubert would even consider visiting the stables these days is –</p><p>“Ferdinand,” Hubert says as he approaches and sees Ferdinand brushing down his favoured horse, Citron, “may I borrow you?”</p><p>To his credit, Ferdinand only jolts slightly before turning to look at Hubert half over his shoulder. He blinks, and the surprise fades from his expression and shifts to friendly concern as he smiles. He is in his shirtsleeves, and some sweat from his earlier weapons practice has caused his shirt to stick at his back and shoulders.</p><p>“Good afternoon to you, too, Hubert,” he says, standing on politeness even though Hubert is not. “How do you wish to borrow me?”</p><p><i>To my quarters,</i> Hubert’s horrible mind supplies. </p><p>Hubert bites the side of his tongue with the swiftness of years spent doing the exact same thing. Ferdinand blinks, some of the struggle not lost to him. Hubert desperately hopes Ferdinand interprets it as anything but what it is. </p><p>“Perhaps for some tea and cards,” Hubert says, and he considers the strain to his tone an improvement over crassness. </p><p>“Tea sounds lovely,” Ferdinand says, shifting and setting down his horse brush back in his kit. “I must admit that I am not particularly good at cards.”</p><p>“That matters not,” Hubert says because he dislikes cards intensely. “I am also keen on chess.” </p><p>“I think either way you will have me beat soundly,” Ferdinand says, shaking his head slightly as he brushes himself off of as much horse hair as he can. “I will have you beat at polo and swords, though, but we cannot play those over tea.” </p><p>“It would be quite silly,” Hubert says, trying not to stare at Ferdinand’s exposed neck through his open collar. </p><p>“Comical, really,” Ferdinand says before straightening and moving to join Hubert. “Lead on, Minister.” </p><p>Hubert does not snort. He does not trust himself to make more than a curt nod before turning and retracing his steps towards the castle. Ferdinand follows, glancing back once to give a positive gesture to a stablehand who takes over the brushing. </p><p>A part of Hubert feels bad for acting so improperly to capture Ferdinand’s time. Ferdinand is not free in his time anymore than Hubert is, although for different reasons. The other part of Hubert, which is wounded and quite out of hand, is simply desperate that Ferdinand pay attention to him right here and now. They war against each other as Hubert and Ferdinand climb the stairs into the castle. </p><p>“I apologise,” Hubert manages after they have stepped into the hall, “for interrupting you so abruptly.” </p><p>Ferdinand shakes his head, his eyes darting away from Hubert briefly to ascertain their direction. “You are upset about something,” he says, a little quieter than his usual tone. “I would like to help, if I may.” </p><p><i>Would you?</i> Hubert’s mind hums and never has Hubert wanted to strangle his inner voice as now. </p><p>He keeps his mouth shut until they are in the hallway that leads to his quarters and his office. The office is still unlocked, and he pushes the door open without taking time to reprimand himself for the momentary lapse in security. The mess on the desk has spilled over to the reception table, but it is not so bad that Hubert cannot clear it off with a few sweeping motions to collect the papers into a pile. He deposits it atop the mess on his desk before turning back to find Ferdinand standing in the doorway, peering around with his sharp, cataloguing brand of curiosity. </p><p>Hubert swallows.</p><p>“What do you think?”</p><p>Ferdinand looks at him. He shifts his weight from the balls of his feet to his heels before moving into the room and reaching behind to shut the door. He smiles, a pleasant but fairly empty expression.</p><p>“I think you look like a very busy Minister of the Imperial Household,” he says, both teasing and a little reserved. “I also do not see implements for making tea.” </p><p>“Ah,” Hubert says, moving to open his drink cabinet. “I am a mage. A stove isn’t needed.” </p><p>Ferdinand is quiet, but Hubert feels his eyes burning holes into his back. It is takes far more concentration than required to extract his tea tray, which is only slightly dusty. Hubert balances it upon his left arm and hand as he closes the cabinet. He turns and finds Ferdinand still standing just inside the closed door. His gaze is piercing, even as he takes in the contents of the tray. Hubert senses his scrutiny is not because of the sole tea tin being Bergamot nor the small scratch on the tray’s lacquered surface.  </p><p>“That is a liquor cabinet,” he points out. </p><p>In the realm of the infinite secrets Hubert keeps, his father died by poison in his nightly glass of brandy. Hubert himself has never developed a taste for hard liquor. </p><p>“Yes,” Hubert says before nodding to the leftmost armchair beside the reception table and the closest to the sole window. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I will show you how a mage does tea.” </p><p>Ferdinand blinks. His expression eases and then shifts into what Hubert can only think of as fascinated and thoroughly wicked as he crosses the short distance to the armchair. He sits and rests his right arm across his torso and his left on the arm as Hubert sets the tray down on the reception table. </p><p>“I did not take you for a showman, Minister,” Ferdinand says, light and very alluring. </p><p>Hubert smiles. He knows it is not a kind look on him. The wickedness in Ferdinand’s expression, which Hubert had doubted for a moment, intensifies. He looks almost cat-like. </p><p>It strikes Hubert that, for all the rumours generated by Sylvain and more recently Leonie, he knows nothing about Ferdinand’s romantic preferences. </p><p>Hubert’s blood feels like it is liable to boil over. </p><p>“I am no showman,” Hubert says because he is not, and if he does not keep the conversation going, he is beginning to fear he will lose what little control he had over it all together. “Learning to heat water in a pot is an elementary Reason magic skill.” </p><p>“I do remember,” Ferdinand says, his grin turning a bit wry. “Has Constance not shared some of our old Faith and Reason lessons?” </p><p>Hubert snorts. He opens the teapot, briefly checks that it is clean, and then reaches for his drinking water pitch to fill it. </p><p>“She has only said that you were distractible when you were young, except when it came to riding or fighting.” </p><p>“It is true,” Ferdinand says as Hubert finishes pouring and setting aside the pitcher. “Aegir and Nuvelle are not like Enbarr. It is much more interesting to be outside than to be inside.” </p><p>“How so?” Hubert asks as he unbuckles the cuffs of his gloves.</p><p>To his credit, Ferdinand only pauses briefly as Hubert removes his gloves. “Well,” he says, and he does not look away from the callused, worked state of Hubert’s hands as they wrap around the teapot, “Aegir is known for its orchards and farming. Nuvelle is known for its moors and sheep. To Constance, who is very astute and keen to experiment, I think the wide-open space inhabited often only by animals appealed to her. I have always been happier outside where I can have my thoughts undisturbed.” </p><p>“You do spend a lot of time out of doors,” Hubert says as the pot warms beneath his hands. “Do you like the city at all?”</p><p>“Not really,” Ferdinand admits; he watches Hubert’s hands like it is a polo ball. “It is very crowded, and people are a bit…” </p><p>He shrugs. Hubert pulls his hands away from the pot, which is at a moderate boil, and lifts the lid. He puts a heaping teaspoon of the Bergamot into the pot and places the lid back on. He picks up his gloves, watching as Ferdinand shifts slightly on the chair. </p><p>“People like their gossip,” Hubert says as he begins to put the gloves back on. </p><p>“Well, yes, but people always like to gossip,” Ferdinand says, grimacing as Hubert buckles his left glove. “But I do see what you mean. Enbarr gossip is intense.” </p><p>“Intense is a kind way to describe it,” Hubert snorts, pulling on his right glove. </p><p>It puts a smile back on Ferdinand’s face that reaches his eyes. “Sylvain is always telling me that I take it all too seriously,” he says, and Hubert finds he likes this expression much better on him even though the light to his eyes isn’t exactly kind nor pleasant. “He has been trying his very best to get me to go down to the port with him because he knows I like the water and the sea air, but I know he will try to get me to—how does he put it? Ah, <i>have a bit of fun</i>, I think is his expression. And, yes, I do not want to be spoken of in the way he is, but I also, I guess, would prefer not to be spoken of at all in those ways. I would only like to be spoken for in regards to my qualities.”</p><p><i>You are quality,</i> Hubert’s useless brain supplies.</p><p>It is extremely lucky that Ferdinand has spoken long enough that the tea is ready to be poured. Hubert suffices his response with nodding in what he hopes is an agreeable manner as he turns over the two teacups on their saucers. He picks up the teapot and pours for them both before offering Ferdinand, who is already leaning forward, his cup and saucer.</p><p>“Sylvain is somewhat infamous for caring little of how people speak of him,” Hubert says as Ferdinand takes hold of the saucer. </p><p>“He does care, actually,” Ferdinand says, and he does not seem to notice how his bare forefinger momentarily touches Hubert’s gloved thumb as he settles back on the seat. “In fact, I believe no one cares as much as Sylvain Jose Gautier does for how people speak of him.” </p><p>Hubert’s thumb feels like it has been pricked with a poisonous needle. If it was not for his knowledge that Ferdinand’s entire magic ability is in Faith, he would have thought he’d been shocked by Thunder. Hubert blinks, hoping Ferdinand takes it for surprise, and picks up his own tea and saucer as he seats himself on his fainting couch. </p><p>“That is surprising,” Hubert asks, a little garbled as Ferdinand takes his first sip of tea. “He seems like the last person to care about their reputation.”</p><p>It earns him a snort as Ferdinand swallows. “He does not care about his reputation,” and Ferdinand’s smile shows more teeth than usual, an expression that reminds Hubert unsettlingly of a wyvern. “Sylvain cares that people talk.”</p><p>Hubert sips his tea carefully. The Bergamot is too citrusy. It is a blend he keeps on hand for the rare times that Edelgard takes tea in his office. It is better than Hubert ruining the delicate Hresvelg Blend. It suddenly occurs to Hubert that he has no idea if Ferdinand likes Bergamot or not. He has very little knowledge, despite observing Ferdinand now for nearly a year and discovering him to be attractive, of what motivates him or what he likes or dislikes. </p><p>As he watches Ferdinand watch him swallow, Hubert realises he doesn’t really know Ferdinand at all. </p><p>He also needs to keep the conversation going. </p><p>“Why?” </p><p>Ferdinand’s lips twitch. He does not look away. Hubert gets the impression that he is being memorised. Calculated. But he has no idea what the formula is. </p><p>“He wants to make a name for himself,” Ferdinand says, the steam of his tea rising up in soft, white wisps between his hands. “Same with Leonie. When you want to be known as yourself, you have to do what you need to do to stand out and tell this world you are more than the name your parents gave you.” </p><p>Something deep inside of Hubert is awake. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>-11.</b>
</p><p>Ferdinand’s quarters in the Enbarr Polo Club are –</p><p>“This is all a bit messy,” Leonie comments when she drops by the evening after the strange tea Ferdinand shares with Hubert in his office. </p><p>“Is it?” Ferdinand asks, busy at his desk as he darns a hole in his right sleeping sock. </p><p>“You obviously never have visitors to impress,” Leonie says, stepping fully into the room with a wry glance at the pile of dirty shirts that Ferdinand has been collecting to take over to the club’s laundry. “If you didn’t go to tea with the Emperor and her Minister, I’d think me and Marianne are you only friends.” </p><p>Ferdinand opens his mouth. Shuts it. He finishes a loop before opening his mouth again as Leonie sits down at the foot of his bed like she is one of his sisters rather than his teammate or an eligible, unmarried bachelor. </p><p>Outside, a light winter rain in falling.</p><p>“Sylvain isn’t a friend?” </p><p>Leonie rolls her eyes. “Sylvain wouldn’t know a friend from a bedmate or a flirt at a bar,” she says, not unkindly.</p><p>While it is a valid assessment, Ferdinand hesitates to call it fair. He makes another loop before briefly checking the state of the hole. It is ready to tie off. </p><p>“I do not think Edelgard or Hubert really think of me as a friend,” he says, twisting the needle around to bring his mending stitches flush against the original knit.</p><p>“They asked you, didn’t they?” Leonie says.</p><p>Ferdinand sighs. “Marianne told you about that then,” he grumbles.</p><p>“I made her,” Leonie says, very mildly. “You were so bothered by that tea time, and she got so bothered by you making her keep a secret. So sorry.” </p><p>“You are not sorry,” Ferdinand says, but he cannot find it in himself to be truly mad; he ties off the mending and sets the needle on his desk. “I think that Edelgard wishes to ascertain how I may be useful to her as a noble scion. The Prime Minister position is still vacant, but I am too young and untested to fulfill such a role now. But I am also here, available to her because her father was more astute than he could let on in life.”</p><p>Leonie hums, leaning back into a leisurely position against the wash basin. “I don’t envy you nobles,” she says, again not unkindly. “You are all a miserable lot.” </p><p>Ferdinand shrugs before picking up his right foot and pulling the sock on. The stitches hold well. He wriggles his toes in the wool before setting his foot back down on the ground. </p><p>“What about Hubert?” </p><p>“Funny of you to ask,” Ferdinand sighs, sitting back in his desk chair and reaching up to rub his left eye. </p><p>“Oh?” Leonie asks, intrigue clear in her tone. </p><p>“He made tea today,” Ferdinand says, brushing in the eyelash that came off while he was rubbing his eye on his sleeping trousers. “The tea was alright, but the conversation was very odd. He seemed to just want to talk about me, so I talked about myself, and he just seemed to be trying to absorb something from the conversation that I have no idea about. It was very strange.” </p><p>Leonie hums, nodding thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s stressed,” she offers as Ferdinand crosses his arms and tilts his head back and forth to get the tension out. “His life has been nothing but upheaval since Edelgard became Emperor. First his father dies, then Edelgard guts the court while he was in his mourning period, and now the old Emperor is dead and the funeral is in two days.” </p><p>Ferdinand hums. He chews his tongue for a moment, considering whether not he should say aloud some of the thoughts he has held back for the past several months. Leonie watches him, her right eyebrow lightly raised. Not forcing but as open as anyone ever has been to Ferdinand’s opinions and thoughts. </p><p>Until he came to Enbarr, no one ever really cared for his opinions or thoughts. </p><p>Somehow that is what loosens his jaw.</p><p>“I think they have been too hasty,” Ferdinand says, slower and quieter than he is used to hearing himself. “They have made too many enemies by acting too quickly.” </p><p>“They’ve burnt the candle at both ends,” Leonie says, also a bit quieter as her eyebrows draw together.</p><p>“Yes,” Ferdinand says, a gust of wind from his chest. “At the same time, with Ionius’s health what it was, perhaps Edelgard had no other choice. But it has made Adrestia look very weak. The noble houses are nervous, and I know well how that may translate to greed.” </p><p>Leonie’s lips press together. She looks at him.</p><p>Once, early in their acquaintance, Leonie had said she wanted to repay her village for funding her transport to Enbarr. Ferdinand knows she has been able to do this. When the next Season comes around, she will have the pick of the clubs she may join. Based on what Marianne and Sylvain have said, it is likely they will return to Gautier and Edmund after the selection of the next cohort. Sylvain must inherit and guard the north. Marianne must learn to sit the Roundtable whether she wishes to or not. </p><p>Their idyllic days of the Enbarr Young Players must come to an end one way or another. </p><p>Ferdinand does not know if he can face what comes next alone. </p><p>“Ferdinand,” Leonie says, kindly. </p><p>“Yes,” Ferdinand says because that is all that may be said. </p><p>They sit together in contemplative silence for a long time. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>12.</b>
</p><p>The Pegasus Moon comes in, and Ionius’s body is entombed in the mausoleum. </p><p>The day is appropriately dreary with intermittent patches of rain and heavy fog that does not dissipate. Even Hubert, in the heavy mage jerkin and trousers beneath the robes of his office, finds the hour-long procession from the chapel to the mausoleum to be bone-chilling. He has not feared death since he was a little boy, but his hands are numb and almost useless by the time Edelgard and the Archbishop’s proxy, Byleth, close the door to the mausoleum. </p><p>Hubert stands for a long moment with the rest of the procession party. The members of the court and society in attendance mill around only briefly before making their way back to the castle under Constance and Bernadetta’s guidance. Hubert watches the closed stone door along with General Bergliez, the only remainder of Ionius’s ministers, and Baron von Ochs.</p><p>“It is telling, I think, that neither House Blaiddyd nor House Riegan sent a representative,” General Bergliez says once it is down to just the three of them. </p><p>“I do say,” Baron von Ochs sighs, folding his handkerchief with stiff, uneven motions. “Come, friends. We should head in before we catch our own deaths of cold.” </p><p>General Bergliez huffs but turns to follow. Hubert does as well because it will do him little good to be seen to stand at the mausoleum door like a  whiny dog. He trudges back towards the castle, arms crossed against the chill. </p><p>“What an awful affair,” the Baron sighs as they walk, low enough that it is private to them. “The whole Insurrection to now. I know I am no great mind –”</p><p>“And I am?” the General snorts, also low and unusually confidential. “I don’t get Her Majesty or you, Hubert, but I do understand what you’ve done. We were weak before and we are weak now, so it’s no great damage there. You need to build your court faster, or it’ll get worse.” </p><p>Hubert clenches his teeth together briefly. He eases his jaw. Breathes in through his nose. </p><p>“I had someone tell me recently,” he says as they pass back into the main northern courtyard, “that war is a natural part of state-making.” </p><p>The Baron looks over at him sharply, but the General simply smiles. It is a rare look on him and very harsh. </p><p>“Was it the Aegir boy?” the General asks, less quietly. </p><p>Hubert finds his tongue is frozen. The Baron looks distinctly uncomfortable. The General’s unpleasant smile widens, showing his gold teeth. </p><p>“You seek out his company for conversation according to my commanders.” </p><p>It is not a threat. It is an observation and information that the General would have privy to, since Hubert had so bluntly borrowed Ferdinand from the stables that house their cavalry. Such information, as well as Ferdinand’s participation in the training yard, would be of interest to many. </p><p>Hubert feels painfully caught out. </p><p>“He is a good conversationalist,” he says because silence would be more damning. </p><p>“His Majesty did say he is like his mother,” the Baron says, trying to ease the conversation back into something less tense. </p><p>“Oh, yes, I remember her,” the General says, and Hubert does not like the tone he uses at all. “She was a pious woman. Very pretty. Too smart for Ludwig.” </p><p>They reach the doors. Hubert desperately wants to say something, but the General’s face turns back to his usual stoic scowl as they enter the hall. The Baron’s face shows far more of his discomfort, but he cannot say anything either. They go through the awkward motions of pleasant goodbyes, citing work and, in the Baron’s case, wishes to join his family to warm up over some hot chocolate. </p><p>“I will be having some beer,” the General snorts before he moves off towards the southern wing. </p><p>So long as it is not sweetened, Hubert does not dislike hot chocolate. He feels, however, liable to be ill if he consume anything of substance. He walks towards his quarters, feeling extremely threatened in a way he hasn’t since Edelgard ascended to the throne. </p><p>It is infuriating. </p><p>It is damning. </p><p>Hubert steps into his quarters and locks the door behind himself. He fumbles about for a moment in the darkness before he finds his lamp to put Fire in. Once that is done, he moves to the hearth and shoves in a new log to set aflame. He casts too intensely, and the log sparks angrily, spitting embers that quickly turn to ash up and out of the grate that Hubert will need to sweep up later. He kneels for a long time by the hearth, trying to gather his wits. </p><p>No matter what, Hubert will always follow Edelgard’s path. He will always adhere to her will and her will alone. It is by her will that he is here. It is by her will that Ferdinand has been offered her friendship. And yet –</p><p>Hubert rises up. He moves towards his personal writing desk. It is quite empty as he has very little in the way of social correspondence. He opens the drawer that he keeps his calling cards in, realising only as he pulls out the top one that he never ordered new ones. These currently only bear his name. They should bear his title. </p><p>This is all so stupid. </p><p>The anger causes Hubert to set the card down on the desk. He takes his drafting pencil, too frustrated to fill his pen with ink, and scribbles:</p><p>
  <i>Lord Ferdinand von Aegir – I would make up to you for being so poor a tea companion last time. Are you free for proper tea and coffee on Saturday, mid-afternoon? –HvV</i>
</p><p>Hubert stares at the message. It looks a bit mad, written in pencil and using Ferdinand’s courtesy title that Hubert has never heard anyone else use. He sets down his pencil and picks up the card. He should tear the card up and throw it into the fire. He should stomp on his ridiculous beating heart before it causes trouble. </p><p>He should do many things. They will all cause trouble. Everything has consequences. Hubert’s entire life has been a sequence of tragedies and reactionary events. </p><p>But in the scope of what is to come: </p><p>Sending this message is the first action Hubert takes for wholly himself.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>-12.</b>
</p><p>It is after the battle in Remire has gone completely awry and the inferno eats its way through the town that Hubert comes to Ferdinand, who sits astride his wyvern. The beast looks to Hubert first, his leather eye protection splattered with dried gore and slitted pupils expanding and contracting in what can only be characterised as hunger. Despite himself, the hideous gaze makes Hubert falter, his boot heel squelching in the soft, ashy mud.</p><p>Ferdinand turns. Only his head. The way he looks at Hubert –</p><p>“Ferdinand –”</p><p>“I do not wish to hear you speak platitudes,” Ferdinand says.</p><p>Hubert shuts his mouth. His teeth click audibly. Ferdinand turns his gaze away. Back to the smoke still rising off what was until this afternoon the main gate into the town. </p><p>A sickly breeze picks up. Ferdinand’s hair, loose from its braid, lifts and flutters. Like the burnt, shredded remainders of the banners above the town chapel. It is the only structure still standing. It was the only one made of stone. Years of faithful tending and washing had made the stone turn bone-white. It is now scorched and pitted and more of a danger to possibly fall upon anyone near to it and more of a danger than salvation. </p><p>Ferdinand lifts his hands. Takes the reins of his wyvern. He sits straight. Looks forward. </p><p>“We must collapse the church,” he says, loud and booming and drawing the attention of his riders and much of Hubert’s mage corps. “Do not loot. Do not attempt to claim anything. I will personally discipline anyone who does not act honourably. Do you understand?”</p><p>There is a roaring. Human and wyvern. It is itself a terrific thing. In his command of the wyvern and cavalry corps, Ferdinand inspires glorious and frightening loyalty. He never wavers, and it reminds the troops of Edelgard, and Ferdinand shines all the brighter for the comparison. </p><p>Ferdinand does not turn, but Hubert is ready for the words he voices next.</p><p>“Hubert, would you assist me?”</p><p>He does not look down, nor back, only ahead.</p><p>Hubert breathes in. </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Ferdinand jerks the reins to take his wyvern aloft, and Hubert turns to address his mages. Through their protective masks, Hubert feels their eyes. They already know what must be done. </p><p>“Once the steeple is broken,” Hubert says as the wyverns roar, “burn the rest down.” </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>13.</b>
</p><p>On the second Saturday of the Pegasus Moon 1181, Ferdinand accepts Hubert’s offer for tea. </p><p>The weather is bad. Winter has fully settled in, and there is a storm blowing in off the water. The port of Enbarr has taken substantial damage as has the Bay of Boramas. General Bergliez has had to take a leave of absence from the court due to contracting the plague, and Hubert has heard recently that Lord Arundel, who had been exiled to an estate house in Boramas, has also fallen ill. Hubert does not like either of them, but if the General is lost, it will disseminate the Empire’s military more completely than all the recent upheaval combined. </p><p>It also is not unreasonable to fear that should Arundel die, his death will be made into a conspiracy. Hubert’s father’s death could be reexamined at the majority request of the court, which would discover that the coffin interred in the Vestra mausoleum is full of ash and stones. Hubert tries not to think too much about this because Arundel is younger than the General and in better overall health. It gives him a headache and keeps him up at night. </p><p>To add insult to injury, Hubert had, the evening after he sent his calling card to Ferdinand at the polo club, been told off by Constance for his over-consumption of coffee. She appeared as if for battle as he readied for bed, dressed in a mage robe over her nightdress and barging directly into Hubert’s bedchamber. It was incredibly improper. Hubert nearly threw a dagger into her eye.</p><p>“How rude!” Constance huffed as Hubert barely managed to stop his fingers from loosing the blade. </p><p>“Constance,” Hubert snarled because his heart was in his ears and throat, “I could have killed you!”</p><p>“No, you would not,” Constance sniffed, inviting herself in and crossing her arms as she glowered at him. “I am here about your coffee consumption, which is frankly ridiculous, and it is embarrassing and pathetic to watch you <i>bankrupt</i> yourself to fuel your habit. Everyone is quite aware as you well know anyone with any social sense sees and cares about everything that is delivered to the castle. Dagda coffee is very obvious; only you like the horrid stuff. You must learn to better control yourself.”</p><p>Hubert did not have the opportunity to get a word in edgewise. He also did not have a solid foot to stand upon to try to defend himself because Constance, despite the bluntness of her appearance, was right. Hubert was using almost all of his personal income to fuel his coffee habit, especially since he had yet to figure out all of his father’s affairs and to gain complete control over House Vestra’s accounts, which themselves were quite modest. He had not realized the extent of his father’s lax management of their own House. None of this reflects well upon Hubert in his unstable position as Minister of the Imperial Household.</p><p>“You seem troubled,” Bernadetta commented on the Wednesday before the second Saturday.</p><p>Hubert had made them both tea, which was likely worse than his attempt to entertain Ferdinand the week before. Bernadetta held the cup of Bergamot in her hands because there was no room to place it on Hubert’s reception table. </p><p>“I am adequate,” Hubert said, holding his own cup and feeling completely out of control.</p><p>Bernadetta took a small, careful sip of her tea. Her nose wrinkled. She swallowed. Returned the cup to the saucer without making a sound. </p><p>“Thank you for the tea,” she said, which was very gracious if not entirely sincere. “I heard from Constance you are trying to find alternatives for coffee.”</p><p>Hubert lifted his own cup. Sipped it. The tea was stale and the bergamot oil slightly sour. Spoiled. His taste had been dulled before due to the acid reflux induced by stress and too much coffee. He swallowed. </p><p>“Actually,” he said, leaning down to place his cup and saucer on the floor because that was the only flat surface; Bernadetta hastily moved to do the same. “I have a personal engagement on Saturday.”</p><p>“Oh!” Bernadetta breathed, her eyes widening as she straightened back up and smoothed out her skirts. “Is it Lord Aegir?”</p><p>Hubert straightened. He forced himself to breath. Out. In. </p><p>“Yes,” he said, as bland as he ever has been; the only comfort was that this is Bernadetta, who he has begun to trust with some of his spying duties as she is able to remain close to Edelgard’s side when bathing or in her bedchamber. “I am aware Ferdinand likes Almyran Pine Needles for tea, which I think may be a good compromise between us.”</p><p>“Oh!” Bernadetta says, her whole face brightening. “It is not a tea I enjoy, but I do know a good merchant who carries teas from the east. Would you like me to purchase you some when I pick up chocolates for Her Majesty tomorrow?”</p><p>“Yes,” Hubert said, slightly choked because it was difficult to look at Bernadetta’s smile; it was too warm and sincere. “Also, please inform the kitchen to make biscuits. The ones with the bit of fruit preserve in the centre.” </p><p>“Her Majesty will enjoy those as well,” Bernadetta says, mild and neatly roundabout; Hubert is both grateful for her consideration and also embarrassed because his nerves are so obvious. “She likes the blackberry preserves best.”</p><p>“That will be perfect then,” Hubert says, only hoping that Ferdinand does in fact like blackberry half as much as he had liked lemon during the summer. </p><p>Hubert knows that is utterly different than the tea and coffee services they have shared before. This is not Hubert grabbing Ferdinand from the stables on a whim. This is a proper invitation, and their tea engagement is to be treated with equal formality. Ferdinand accepted on Enbarr Polo Club stationary bearing his name. Hubert received the acceptance in his mail and took a long moment examining the wax seal. It was pressed with the Crest of Cichol rather than Ochain, the lion emblem of House Aegir. </p><p>There was very little more Ferdinand could do to signal to Hubert that he is acting on his own accord. Hubert placed Ferdinand’s acceptance into his personal correspondence drawer. There was nothing else in the drawer aside from Ferdinand’s original calling card inviting Hubert and Edelgard to tea. Hubert gazed at the letter and the card together for a long time. </p><p>He locked them away with his key. </p><p>The evening before the second Saturday, he finally works up the courage to share with Edelgard that he will be hosting Ferdinand for a personal tea time. Edelgard blinks at his reflection in the mirror as he brushes her hair to prepare it for oiling and bed. There are dark shadows beneath her eyes from her grief, but her gaze is focused and very knowing. </p><p>“You enjoy Ferdinand’s company,” she observes. </p><p>It is neither judgmental nor accusing. Rather, she seems mildly pleased, which is only discernible because Hubert has known her all of her life. She shifts, and Hubert is left to draw the hairbrush away from her hair as she turns to look up at him. Her warm brown hair slips through his fingers and pools at her back. </p><p>“I have never known you to be driven by anything but my best interests and desires,” Edelgard says, not unkindly.</p><p>Hubert swallows. Edelgard reaches up and cups her fingers at his jaw. Light and ungentle and companionable. He cannot turn away.</p><p>“Your Majesty –”</p><p>“Hubert,” and she is unmovable and solid and sure; he has never been able to deny her; he has never wanted to; “I want you to look to the future and not just at me.” </p><p>Hubert does not tremble. </p><p>That was beaten out of him long ago. </p><p>“This world,” Edelgard says as Hubert lowers himself to let her wrap her arms around his shoulders, “is made out of the secrets everyone knows but no one is willing to tell. Between us, there is nothing we do not share.” </p><p>Hubert rests his chin against the crown of her head. He breathes in. The scent of orange oil. It was pressed in the late summer. It is bright and invigorating. </p><p>“I will accept whoever you let in,” Edelgard whispers, as he takes her weight and the pressures of the days and nights behind and ahead of them for a short, precious moment, “because you always act with our best interests in mind.”</p><p>Hubert breathes out. He knows that Bernadetta, who has been rooting out the spies in the walls, is watching. They have never had any privacy.  Any comfort. They have stolen even this brief respite. And should they survive:</p><p>Anything is possible. </p><p>The key in Hubert’s pocket is very small. It is very heavy. </p><p>Against his chest, Edelgard breathes out.</p><p>She smiles.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>-13.</b>
</p><p>Hubert does not fit into the landscape nor the pace of Aegir. It is, and ever has been to Ferdinand, a land of sloping hills, rustling breeze, and orchards that want to go wild if they are let on their own for more than half a season. Hubert is Enbarr, restrained and controlled by his very nature. He does not know how to go wild any more than he knows how to fully relax when asleep. </p><p>“You stand out,” Ferdinand says the second morning that Hubert comes to find him out in the orchards.</p><p>Hubert does not jolt in surprise. He stops in his searching and looks up to Ferdinand upon a large branch of the hazelnut tree. His brows draw together. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.</p><p>“What are you doing up there?” </p><p>Ferdinand feels how wide his smile is, but he does not need to hide it. He shifts enough on the branch to face Hubert’s upturned face. His pinched expression. It looks mean. It hides only sincere worry. </p><p>“I have liked to climb since I was a babe,” he says because he remembers that was something his parents were always howling at him to stop doing. “This tree is old and strong, and I have climbed it all my life. I have been saying <i>hello</i>.”</p><p>The look Hubert gives him is so adorably baffled Ferdinand wishes there was a way to preserve moments in time. </p><p>“It is a tree,” Hubert says as if Ferdinand has finally taken leave of his senses. </p><p>“That it is, Minister,” Ferdinand says, teasingly demure. </p><p>“Ferdinand,” Hubert says, unamused, “come down from there before you hurt yourself.” </p><p>Ferdinand bursts out laughing. He laughs harder at the scowl this earns him, and it takes him a long moment before he can bring his humour back under control enough to say: </p><p>“Hubert, you have seen me do so many more dangerous things from much higher. This tree is not moving; I am in less danger here than upon a horse.” </p><p>The scowl becomes very mighty. It is a look that makes troops and members of the court quake in their boots and soft-heeled shoes. Like this, though, Ferdinand can only think that Hubert looks like he has eaten a lemon whole. </p><p>“That does little to reassure me.” </p><p>Ferdinand snorts, but his heart feels full of fondness. He shifts and begins the process of shimmying down the tree, his sock-covered feet finding purchase against branches and notches that he could find in his sleep. He has grown with this tree, and it is his oldest friend. </p><p>Just above where he would usually jump down, Ferdinand feels Hubert put his hands upon his hips. There is a slight tremble to his hands through the thick leather mage gloves and Ferdinand’s thinner summer trousers. Ferdinand lets Hubert guide him back down to the ground for a secure and soft landing in the loops and crevices of the roots. </p><p>Ferdinand begins to turn.</p><p>“Hubert –”</p><p>He finds himself pulled against Hubert’s chest. A tight, intense embrace that knocks the breath out of him. Hubert’s arms wrap around his waist and curl upon Ferdinand’s sides. </p><p>Ferdinand blinks rapidly, staring just beyond Hubert’s left shoulder. </p><p>“Hubert?”</p><p>A breath. Half out. Stuttering. He tries and fails to swallow the trembling down. </p><p>Hubert holds Ferdinand so tightly it hurts. </p><p>Hubert is afraid of heights. </p><p>Something deep in Ferdinand’s chest contracts. Releases. Settles.</p><p>He lifts his hands. Wraps his arms around Hubert’s back. He rubs his right hand up and down over the layers of mage robes and hidden fireproof tunic. Hubert breathes in. Short. Out. When he breathes in again, it is deeper. </p><p>Ferdinand looks at the light filtering down through the branches.</p><p>“There now,” he murmurs. “I am safe now. See?”</p><p>Hubert breathes in. Out. Deep and relieved. </p><p>Ferdinand rubs his fingers over his back. Ribs. Spine.</p><p>The breeze moves the leaves in the trees. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>14.</b>
</p><p>In the end, Hubert purchases an entire new tea set along with a tin of Almyran Pine Needles. </p><p>He does not attempt to fool himself that it is for practical purposes. He purchases the black and gold porcelain set because he wishes to impress Ferdinand. Unlike the unique blue wyverns with clouds that Ferdinand had used for the tea service at the polo club, this is a set entirely Hubert. The gold is thin and only around the rim. It is both what he can afford and what he prefers. </p><p>Constance looks at the set in its case as Hubert sets up the tea service in the library. She had brought the water and a packet of candied lemon peels, the latter entirely on her own accord. She does not say anything when Hubert meets her eyes, but that is enough to know that he has given himself away. </p><p>There is no judgement nor pity there. Only understanding. </p><p>The fact of the matter is Hubert is aware that Ferdinand, as scion of House Aegir, was nearly married to Bernadetta and Constance at different points in time. The match with House Varley was vetoed by Ferdinand’s mother as a dying wish. She had not wanted the influence of Count Varley upon her son, and Ludwig, in perhaps his only showing of familial warmth, had fulfilled her wish. The match with House Nuvelle was vetoed by Lord Arundel and Ionius, one of the very few instances when they were in agreement after the Insurrection. It would have combined too much wealth and too much power as both the Crest of Noa and the Crest of Cichol are so rare. Hubert does not know Ferdinand’s opinions regarding any of this, but Ferdinand patently does not share his personal opinions unsolicited.</p><p>The failure of these previous matches are relevant, although there is no polite way to address them. Hubert has no property. He has no Crest in his blood, and he has little wealth to his name. He is, despite his attempts to escape the expectations placed upon him, the perfect person to fall in love with Ferdinand as he presents no contradictions to the pathways that have been sealed shut. </p><p>Edelgard, as Emperor, still needs a Prime Minister who will be recognized by convention. It will solidify her court and begin to repair the power of the Empire. The Season of 1181 is less than a month away. One day, it is Edelgard’s dream and Hubert’s desperate hope that the Season will be ended. The waste and excess will no longer be necessary, and the time they are forced to spend will be better utilised for themselves. Until then they must work to bring all of their allies on their side. Ensuring this is Hubert’s duty as both Marquis Vestra and the Minister of the Imperial Household.</p><p>These are the thoughts occupying the forefront of Hubert’s mind when Bernadetta shows Ferdinand into the library. </p><p>“Marquis Vestra,” she says, soft and timid as she steps back and almost entirely into a bookcase’s shadow, “the Lord Ferdinand von Aegir is arrived.” </p><p>Ferdinand bows neatly and appropriately. Hubert, because this is formal and to give himself a moment to recover, does the same. Ferdinand is splendid. He wears the winter attire of the Enbarr Polo Club that is provided for ceremonies at visiting matches. It is red and gold, and he wears a white collar that keeps his unique colouring from clashing. </p><p>“It is a pleasure to join the Minister of the Imperial Household for tea,” Ferdinand says as he straightens and Bernadetta makes her way back towards the library doors. </p><p>“I think you are aware that my last attempt resulted in me serving you spoiled Bergamot tea,” Hubert says, very wry. </p><p>Ferdinand bursts out into a surprised bark of a laugh. His face screws up for a brief moment on the engrained propriety to attempt to stifle it before he remembers he does not need to pretend with Hubert. He laughs again, warmer, and moves forward to the chair across from where Hubert stands by the table. </p><p>“How long did you have that tin?” he asks as he seats himself and Hubert partially turns to uncover the biscuit and sandwiches. </p><p>“Longer than I should have kept it,” Hubert says as he folds up the plate covers. </p><p>“So, at least a full year,” Ferdinand says, lightly teasing as he continues with: “I hope Her Majesty did not suffer it too often.” </p><p>“I believe you saw the state of the tea tray,” Hubert says as he moves to begin warming his new teapot. “I have taken my failures into consideration and purchased a few pieces more becoming of my station.” </p><p>“I do see,” Ferdinand says, and the emptiness of Hubert’s pockets is worth it to hear the approval in his tone. “This set suits you, Hubert. I like the stateliness of the gold filigree.” </p><p>Hubert does not repress the smile that comes to his lips. The pot warms rapidly beneath his hands, coming to a boil before he pulls them off. He picks up the tin of Almyran Pine Needles and offers it to Ferdinand, who takes it with a wider grin that lights his eyes.</p><p>“Oh, this is my favourite,” he says as he opens the tin to take an appreciative sniff before handing it back to Hubert. “You did not have to.”</p><p>“Think of it as an apology of sorts,” Hubert says as he takes the lid off the pot and picks up the teaspoon. “You were gallant to humour me when we last had tea.” </p><p>“It was an interesting tea time,” Ferdinand agrees, a clever little tease masquerading as demureness. </p><p>Hubert concentrates on measuring out exactly two teaspoons of Almyran Pine Needles into the pot. He sets the spoon and tin down and places the lid back on before standing straight. Ferdinand looks up at him. His eyes are very focused and the smile on his lips cat-like in its cleverness. </p><p>Hubert has the bizarre urge to lean down and kiss him. </p><p>“I was very intrigued when I received your calling card,” Ferdinand says, gazing up at Hubert with that alluring, teasing smile. “I did not know quite what to think, but Sylvain and Leonie were eager in their encouragement that I accept your invitation.” </p><p>“Were they,” Hubert says. </p><p>“Yes,” Ferdinand confirms as if he had not informed Hubert of the fact the moment before. “I do not receive many invitations from people outside of the polo clubs and the opera because I do not otherwise socialise. I find it uncomfortable, which is a sentiment I share with Marianne. Sylvain and Leonie believe that we should be more welcoming.”  </p><p>“Welcoming,” Hubert echoes, almost outside of himself as he watches Ferdinand’s lips stretch into a wider, even more cat-like smile.</p><p>“Oh, yes,” Ferdinand says, and Hubert is suddenly struck with the realisation that this is definitely flirtatious. “You must know that despite my father’s behaviour, Aegir is quite provincial. Edmund is remote. So Marianne and I share some things in common in our regards of the city and Enbarr in particular.”</p><p>Hubert is saved from needing to immediately formula a response because he needs to serve the tea. He takes his time carefully filling first Ferdinand’s and then his own cup before seating himself. The smile on Ferdinand’s lips does not fade at all, and he picks up his cup to taste his tea with a predatory sparkle in his eyes. He sips it as Hubert does the same and hums in pleasure.</p><p>“Ah,” he breathes, lips parting enticingly as he returns his cup to the saucer. “I do like to believe that is what the pine needles taste like fresh.” </p><p>Hubert swallows. Returns his cup to his saucer. He doesn’t care about what the tea tastes like at all. </p><p>“What do you and Miss Marianne share in common?” </p><p>The look Ferdinand levels him is both pleased and quite wicked. He rests his right hand on the table and his left in his lap. He does seem predominantly right-handed, but Hubert has seen how, on horseback, he is equally capable with both hands. He looks perfectly at ease. </p><p>Ferdinand von Aegir, Hubert understands very suddenly, is a very dangerous individual. </p><p>“We love animals best because they are natural and do not have the evils of humanity in them,” Ferdinand says, and his lips are red and pleasing as he speaks. “We make our devotions regularly and out of duty rather than piety—a quality I believe you appreciate.” </p><p>Hubert’s lips twitch. “What makes you say that?” </p><p>Ferdinand reaches out and helps himself to one of the biscuits. He sets it on his plate with a soft clink. A buttery crumb rolls off the edge. He catches it and nudges it back against the biscuit with his thumb.</p><p>“Since I began utilising the training facilities here, I attend morning service in the chapel,” he says, very smooth and not mild at all. “My mother enjoyed the Castle Hresvelg chapel, and I still enjoy singing. I have never once seen you there.” </p><p>Hubert lets himself smile. It is a frightening look, but Ferdinand only returns it with the sickness of his own. Hubert reaches out and takes a biscuit with no intention of eating it. </p><p>“Perhaps I am shirking my duty,” Hubert challenges.</p><p>“Lying does not suit you,” Ferdinand says, more of that smoothness to his tone.</p><p>“Oh?” Hubert says, deeper than he intended; he refuses to clear his throat or take it back. “I think you know as well as I that lying is the currency of my station.” </p><p>“The currency of your station is subterfuge,” Ferdinand volleys back, and there is a sharp light in his eyes. “For me, it is to be charming and conversational. In that, my father and yours taught us our places in nobility quite well.”  </p><p>Hubert reaches for his teacup. “Your father is neither charming nor conversational,” he points out.</p><p>The way Ferdinand’s lips lift at the end is predatory and more than a little cruel. He picks the crumb from his biscuit and rolls it between his thumb and forefingers. </p><p>“My father,” he says, buttery and very cold, “has spent most of my life upon an evil path. He came to the city, which is dense and full of many different people. Enbarr is exciting. My father is a weak man in the face of marvels. I like to believe you understand.” </p><p>Hubert sips his tea. Ferdinand parts his lips. Places the crumb upon the tip of his tongue. Hubert watching him retract his tongue. Close his lips. Swallow. </p><p>Slowly, Hubert lowers his teacup. Swallows.</p><p>“Is that what you believe or what you think?"</p><p>Ferdinand stares at him. His eyes are the colour of summer. The oranges that Edelgard loves so much. </p><p>“You truly do wish to know what I think.”</p><p>There is a clear note of amazement to these words. Hubert inclines his head. Ferdinand does not blink. Hubert does not lift his head fully. </p><p>Deference. The possibility of devotion. And above all:</p><p>Respect. </p><p>Ferdinand lips lift. Part to show his teeth. His whole expression blossoms. Bright and real and entirely too honest. </p><p>“You will not like my thoughts,” Ferdinand says; it is not a rejection nor an acceptance; it is as harsh as the high noon sun. “They are not the thoughts of a friend. I do not wish to place you in a position that will disappoint Her Majesty.” </p><p>Hubert lifts his head. He does not control his expression nor moderate the focus of his gaze.</p><p>Ferdinand blinks. He smiles wider. </p><p>He understands. </p><p>“I would consider your thoughts, friend or not.”</p><p>Ferdinand laughs. Sharp and too bright. He shakes his head, lips twisting upwards at their ends. </p><p>“I think,” he says, and Hubert knows that he will remember the moments that have lead them there better than anything else that happened between, “you are a dangerous man, Hubert von Vestra. You and Her Majesty both are bad for me, if I want to live a long, peaceful life. Therefore –”</p><p>As they sit together over tea:</p><p>“I think I want to know you better.”</p><p>They see eye to eye. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>-14.</b>
</p><p>Amid the wisteria –</p><p>“I think we have had a fundamental misunderstanding.” </p><p>Hubert holds still. Ferdinand’s fingertips trace his lips with the tips of his fore and middle fingers. The petals from the wisteria are beginning to collect in his hair. Some tumble over his shoulders to the floor. Others nestle like little kisses in the loops of his braid or rest lightly upon the crown of his head. </p><p>“What have we misunderstood?” </p><p>Ferdinand smiles. It is small and unkind and reaches his eyes and fills them with life and something specific and terrible. Hubert thinks of how wisteria, when cut, is often paired with irises. </p><p>“When I came to Enbarr, I knew what sort of place it was. It is a dirty, dishonest place. I learned this well from my mother. I knew the marvels here would try to steal me away.”</p><p>Hubert tilts his head down. Ferdinand leans up. The kiss is soft but firm. They do not need to search or to battle. That is for them to do at court and in trade and in diplomacy and on the ever changing battlefield. But between the two of them:</p><p>“I was not so arrogant as to think myself immune to marvels.”</p><p>Ferdinand breathes Hubert in. </p><p>“So I thought, to stay myself and free, I must steal something, too.”</p><p>Hubert smiles. Wraps his arms around Ferdinand’s waist and feels him vibrate with a laugh.</p><p>“I rather like to think,” Hubert whispers, “that I have stolen you.” </p><p>Ferdinand smiles. Wide and bright and very, very alive.</p><p>“Well,” he whispers as Hubert leans forward, “I suppose we may agree.”  </p><p>They know who they are to each other.</p><p>They are free.</p>
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